New beginnings
by kedrann
Summary: In a world where aliens and demons both exist, some things are bound to change. Like who was in a certain Time Jumper when Atlantis' shield collapsed, and what they did afterwards. AU (Stargate Buffyverse merger).
1. Chapter 1

**Author notes:** this story is a prelude to another one I am preparing for Halloween. In a way, it can be seen (or read) like the opening credits of the Watchmen movie.

It considers true the possibility that Sunnydale replaces Santa Barbara.

Disclaimer

 **Summary:** In a world where aliens and demons both exist, some things are bound to change. Like who was in a certain Time Jumper when Atlantis' shield collapsed, and what they did afterwards. AU (Stargate + Buffyverse merger).

Fandom I do not own anything of:

\- Buffy the Vampire Slayer

\- Stargate SG-1 and spin-off series.

\- Elements of Mass Effect and the the Shadowrun RPG are being used, while this is not a full crossover with these sources.

These books (one graphic novel and one book) have also been sources of inspiration for this story:

Scourge of the Gods: The Fall (Original title: _Le Fléau des Dieux_ )by Valerie Mangin and Aleksa Gajić.

The _Morning of the Magicians_ _,_ by Louis Pauwels and Jacques Bergier.

 **Rating:** FR18

Special thanks to Narsil for betaing this chapter

* * *

 **Antarctica, October 1947**

Philippe Venturi wondered once again what devil had possessed him to sign up for this job. No, he had to be fair. He knew perfectly why he was freezing his ass off in Antarctica. One of his old friends had told him about a civilian mission reuniting some British Commonwealth, Belgian and French scientists who would take advantage of the fact the US Navy was running a big operation from Ross Island during that period. Camp Diogenes was much more modest. Its goal was to set up a base in a sheltered valley on the continent side of the Transantarctic Mountains and overwinter there. It was a proof of concept for the inland stations that would inevitably be settled later. During the austral winter, their little seven-man team had also taken advantage of the continual night to make a lot of astronomical observations. Now, they were finishing their work and waiting for the Americans to come back to Ross Island in November. The boat to bring them back to Australia would be there too.

As for himself… well he wasn't really a scientist, more kind of an adventurer as far as his colleagues knew. Initially, he had brought his experience of cold climate life, gathered during the time he spent in Tibet before the war, plus a knack to improvise equipment… and handle explosives, as the Germans had the misfortune to experience during the war. Explosives were easy chemistry for him. His family was usually dealing with far more delicate procedures.

 _Thankfully, I managed to resist the temptation… some procedures I know… there are dragons it is best not to wake up. Let's be positive. I may be freezing my ass off but no vampire is going to be nuts enough to come here._

The truth was that he came from a long line of alchemists. They were no charlatans or simple dabblers, but a family firmly rooted in the supernatural side of the world. They were not 'politically' motivated like the Watchers or many demon factions. Instead, they had provided a variety of services to paying customers. This kept the family's coffers lined and the labs supplied.

Sure, there were some things they didn't do. While the Venturi had, over the centuries, gathered methods from both the West and the East, they had no interest in witchcraft. Spells, black or white, too often exacted a terrible price from their caster. Alchemy, on the other hand, mostly took time, skill and resources.

The source of his family's downfall had not been in their art, but in the way they used it. As mercenaries, they were neutral and respected for their skill. On the other hand, this meant they had been alone dealing with the consequences of one of their contracts.

He was in India when it started, in 1937. Someone hired him to make sure that the German expedition to Tibet would not find a certain place and certain items. At the same time, his father was occupied in America, hired to fix a problem concerning a vampire called Heinrich Nest and his minions, the Order of Aurelius. Philippe's own assignment went without too many problems even if he ended stuck in the Himalaya for two years. No, the problem was with his father's contract. At first, everything went well and Marco Venturi managed to entomb Nest – also known as the Master – in a cave under Sunnydale. The Mayor rewarded them well for their services, offering them among other things a house in the town. But then, Nest's followers, led by the vampiress Darla, decided to kill the Venturi down to the last family member.

Being stuck in Tibet saved him. When the Order raided the Venturi manor in Corsica, they destroyed a lot of records in their blind rage, which made the rest of their hunt very difficult. When he finally came back in France in fall 1939, they already thought they had killed everybody. Then, well… war happened. Stuck in Lyon, he joined the Resistance. He also met one of his best friends during that period, a member of the Marco Polo resistance network like him.

 _Which reminds me… I really need to pay Jacques a visit next 'spring'. I miss our discussions. I just hope that whatever he is doing for the government is not undercover…_

And now, in this good year 1947, he was the only member of the Venturi family left. He couldn't say that he felt sorrow for the decidedly not nice things he had done during his occult career. Nor did he feel anything for the even less nice things he did to the 'Fritz' during the war. Those actually felt even better than the first ones because he could tell himself that for those he wasn't a mercenary, but a patriot fighting for his country's freedom.

No, his reason to change was different. It was because he knew what would happen if he let the education his father gave him guide his actions. His children would be raised to avenge the fallen and rebuild the clan. This was why he had said enough. He had to stop the cycle and, should he ever marry, give a nice, normal future to his kids.

 _And so here I am… what is this?_

He stopped his sled and took out his binoculars. It had only been for an instant but he didn't stay alive by ignoring his instincts when they were telling him something was worthy of attention. He heard the sled of his colleague Alain Desportes stop near him. He rather liked the Belgian glaciologist and had often accompanied him on his expeditions to get more samples.

"Anything interesting?" asked Alain in French.

"Just here, near that little rocky crest. There is a metallic shine," replied Philippe, handing him his binoculars.

"Some leftover of a previous expedition, probably."

"I am sure it wasn't there the last time we took that route… sure we had a lot of blizzard lately and it might have revealed something that was buried so far."

"It's not far from our usual route and we have time before sunset. Do you want to check?"

Philippe quickly weighed the situation. Antarctica didn't have any known occult history but it didn't mean it had none at all. Still, none of the expeditions had met any demons and the… bareness of the place would probably have them looking for bloodier pastures.

"Yes but let's be careful."

He saw Alain nod but he knew that it wasn't out of any occult-related fear. It was the ever-present, much more mundane risk of crevices. Philippe was not forgetting it either, and he started to probe the snow, walking in front of his sled. He finally reached the shiny spot he had seen in the distance. It was undoubtedly metallic but…

"What is it? That's not steel," said Alain, passing his hand on the light grey metal.

"Aluminum, maybe? But that's not what's most important. This is some kind of beam," he replied, removing more of the snow.

"Yes, it looks a little like what they use for steel structures in skyscrapers… and I don't think it was brought here by an earlier expedition, at least not an official one. So… tell me if you see any swastika?"

"Right," replied Philippe, smiling as he shook his head. The rumor about Nazi U-boats coming to hide in a secret Antarctic base at the end of the war had become a kind of private joke for the men of Camp Diogenes, referencing it every time they found something unusual.

They started to probe the snow around the beam and soon found an area where their avalanche probes reached an empty space after half a meter of packed snow. Philippe looked at his watch.

"I see two options. We can mark this place, go take the samples at site D, then back to the camp. Then we make a dedicated expedition for this place. Or…"

"Philippe, I am always glad to have redundancy in my measures but we have a whole building buried under the snow here. According to Georgie, there will be more blizzards in the coming days, so we risk having it completely buried again. So I say we make igloos for the dogs and us and then we explore and take pictures. As long as we're back tomorrow night, we'll be on schedule."

"All right, let's get to work then," said Philippe, taking a shovel out of his sled.

They worked quickly, first unharnessing the dogs. After so many months here, they both knew all the tricks for saving time and avoiding errors.

"One thing I really like about working with you is that bit of Tibetan sorcery you have with dogs," said Alain.

Philippe just smiled mysteriously. There were many things about his life that he just couldn't explain without introducing people to the darkest side of the world. Letting them believe he was the kind of adventurer you find in serials like the Shadow was far more comfortable for all of them. Liking to read Lovecraft and knowing that he had tried to warn the world about the horrible reality were two very different matters. Unfortunately for his own sanity, Philippe was in the latter category and he understood perfectly why people who brushed the surface of the abyss often spent the rest of their lives violently denying it existed.

As for dogs, well Alain was half-right. There was some bit of sorcery there, but it was African, not Tibetan. The Elephant Primal Spirit had possessed a witch doctor, making life for the local human settlements, including a European company with an interest in diamonds, very difficult. Philippe had been sent to 'fix things'. Finding methods to understand and get along with animals had been a matter of survival then.

The result here was that the dogs saw him instinctively as their pack leader. He wasn't sure he deserved such a level of trust but it made working with the 30 dogs of the Camp a lot easier. Currently, it meant that he could trust them to stand watch as they worked and that chaining them as other people sometimes did was unnecessary.

They worked a little bit more, digging in what seemed to be the shallowest area and soon giving them enough space to enter the sunken building. They took a break so that the both of them and the dogs could eat, before prepping their lamps and the camera.

"Ready?" asked Philippe.

"As much as I can."

Philippe nodded and went to the hole. He let the rope descend in the darkness. They supposed that it was some kind of dome and that the 'beam' that protruded was maybe a mast standing above it. The hole they had found was one place where a triangular panel was missing.

He tested the ropes one last time and rappelled down. Philippe followed him. He would have preferred if someone stayed up so that they could climb more easily on the way back but he knew there was no way the glaciologist would agree to that.

They landed on the ground and lighted the walls. They were indeed inside a geodesic dome, with triangular panels of glass held by a metallic structure. What was remarkable was that despite the snow's pressure above, only one of the panels had effectively come loose.

 _Only one… how convenient. Ah, I think I see why. The metallic border is different from the others… yes, this is an opening system. Probably a trapdoor to access the roof… and the structure the beam at the surface was part of given its position._

"Philippe? Look at that glass!"

He joined his friend who had approached the border of the dome. He passed his hand on it, removing his glove. Then he looked at the fallen panel on the ground. A panel that didn't even have a crack despite a six meters fall.

"Alain… are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yes. This is no ordinary material. The structure resisted the weight of tons of snow without a crack. In fact… I don't think this is glass in the common sense of the word. Rather some kind of crystal."

Following a hunch, Philippe took out his knife and tried to graze the fallen panel. He didn't leave even a scratch and he was sure that if he continued, it would be his knife that would dull away. He knew a transparent material like that but… if he was right… the quantity was staggering.

They turned their attention to the machines at the center of the dome then. They like nothing they knew but they thought that they were some kind of measuring instruments.

"What do you think? An observatory?" asked Alain.

"It would make sense but… I think we can definitely ditch the swastika hypothesis."

"Why?"

Philippe hesitated slightly then decided this tiny bit of knowledge would fit with the persona the others built for him if he tweaked it a little.

"You see those signs, the ones that are composed of blocks? It's not just some decoration. That's a writing system. I saw that in some old texts and it's rumored to be from a lost civilization."

 _In fact, according to a footnote in Dramius volume eleven, this is the language of the Powers That Be but let him think of Atlantis… more comfortable that way._

There was a part of him trying to convince the rest to knock his friend out and get the out of this place as quickly as he could. The presence of such inscriptions here… this place was old, probably older than the biblical age of the world. Dramius said that the Powers themselves had abandoned this system and adopted another that they finally taught to the tribes of Latium.

 _Which explains why, apart from the Powers themselves and, big maybe as the sources are really not reliable, Merlin, there is no one left able to read those. Well… who knows? With all the work on codes done, maybe someone will try to crack that one. So… let's explore. At least, it's not some demonic script, or worse, Primordial Sanskrit._

He shuddered at that thought. He knew how to recognize and, in some cases, decipher, the most common demonic languages. One of them, sometimes called Primordial Sanskrit, was the language of the Old Ones, the antediluvian demons that once reigned on Earth, the ones that inspired Lovecraft's Cthulhu. Finding a site with these kind of inscriptions… convincing the Americans to use one of their atomic bombs on the place was probably a good idea.

He watched as Alain opened one of the machines, exposing its innards and took some pictures. There were crystals again, of various colors and shapes, all arranged in a frame of metal and something that was maybe some kind of plastic.

"You know what it makes me think of?" said Philippe. "Not the pieces themselves but the way they're arranged on those racks that can be easily taken out. It's like the vacuum tubes in a radio."

"Yes... but… I suppose there are only so many efficient ways to arrange things so that they are both easily accessible and packed in the smallest possible space. What does it tells us else… pieces look standardized, I can see small inscriptions on each of them."

"Serial numbers?"

"Again logical, but it supposes that whoever built this is doing a lot of things like us."

 _No, Alain… we are the ones doing a lot of things like them. Because they taught us. The Powers That Be… what did Father say… rumors of them being in fact Immortals in the Chinese sense rather than mystic entities born that way._

"There are stairs," said Philippe, lighting the way. "We will have to come back anyway."

"Right."

They walked slowly on the ancient steps, finding them to again be the transparent crystal held in dark gray metallic frames. The level they soon reached seemed to be furnished as some kind of private quarters.

"How old is all of this?" asked Alain.

"Old enough for all the plants to be little more than dust," replied Philippe as he lighted a planter. "The fabrics too… I have seen Egyptian relics in better shape than this."

"And that despite the cold and dry air… Do you think… Plato said…"

"I know, ten thousand BC or so," cut in the former adventurer. "I thought about that possibility. Let's check the other rooms at this level."

"Agreed. I take the left corridor, you take the right one," he replied

They separated, exiting the circular room that they supposed to be a living room.

"I have more stairs here but they're blocked by rubble… looking at the geometry. They're not following a curve like the ones going from the dome to here… interesting," said Alain. "If I am correct, we are in a kind of tower built on the flank or maybe on the top of a mountain that is now completely buried in snow. This flight of stairs looks like it's going inside the mountain. Anything interesting on your side?"

"Something that was maybe a kitchen and bathroom. Let's continue."

Philippe soon reached another room with a big window of the same crystal material. There were remainders of what had been a double bed and other furniture that gave the impression of a bedroom.

His eyes were immediately attracted by a motif on the wall. It was something that should normally have been invisible but the frost had damaged some of the wooden decorative motifs of the wall. Taking out his knife, he removed the ice in some places and quickly reached a conclusion.

"Hidden door," he whispered.

He removed his glove and let his finger run on the motifs looking until… yes, this one was slightly misaligned. He smirked as the ornamental piece of wood rotated under his fingers. He nodded appreciatively as the wall started to slide into the ground in complete silence, revealing a hidden alcove. He turned his light inside.

"By the Trimegistes…" he muttered.

At first sight, the alcove seemed filled out with ice. The problem was the 'item' resting inside the ice, suspended like a prehistoric insect in amber. It was a young woman with black hair and rather dark skin, from the little he could tell under the light of his lamp.

"Nothing interes… Jesus-Marie-Joseph!" said Alain as he entered the room and saw the woman. "You found a tomb?"

Philippe thought quickly about the room and, following a hunch, checked the inside of the alcove. Yes, there was also an opening command for the door on this side.

"I… a tomb wouldn't make sense. This is a bedroom and the alcove was hidden behind a secret door," he replied, tapping at the place where it had sunk in the floor.

 _Unless she's a vampire… but I don't think so. Anyway, better be ready in case she wakes up very thirsty._

"This is not normal ice," said the glaciologist who had approached. "I mean that this is not water ice, maybe dry ice."

"You're right," replied Philippe, letting his ungloved hand briefly touch the surface.

The ice immediately started to glow in eerie white light _._ He felt a small air flow as the frozen gas sublimated away, freeing its treasure.

He rushed forward, taking the woman in his arms as she collapsed. This wasn't a matter of gallantry but rather of being ready to do the needful if she was revealed to be undead. His knife wouldn't be enough to dust her but a stab in her spine would limit her mobility until he could do something more permanent.

He relaxed as he felt a pulse on her neck. It was faint, but it was here. He could also feel her starting to shiver in his arms. He knew that she could still be some other kind of demon but… he pushed back his doubts and decided to do the humane thing. He removed his jacket and put it around her shoulders.

"She… she's alive? How?"

"Some kind of hibernation I think… Alain, now is not the time. She's not dressed for the cold and… we have to get her back to the Camp."

"Right… there is some kind of briefcase in the alcove. I'll take it back while you take care of the lady… hem, I mean you have the muscles to carry her, I don't."

* * *

 **Not too far away, almost at the same time**

She was standing on a ridge, completely oblivious to the temperature, despite the fact her dress would have been better suited to Mediterranean weather than to the Antarctic one, even in the beginning of summer.

She had a little smile as she looked through the eyes of her emissary and saw the two men come out of the sunken building and put an unconscious woman inside the shelter they created a few hours before. They lost no time in reharnessing the dogs and raced away, securing the now fur-wrapped woman on one of the sleds.

In a way, it was just a little pebble. Had she not intervened, this man would have been in Sunnydale with his father. Barely escaping the Order of Aurelius, the shock would have been so intense that he would have buried for good any supernatural aspect of his life and never, ever mentioned anything about it to any of his kids. Finally, a car accident would have taken him out of the picture long before his granddaughter was called and met her first vampire. There would be no one to tell the most famous Slayer of her time about her heritage and the role it played in some 'peculiarities' about her destiny.

 _This part has been easy… I just needed Whistler to deploy some resources and tailor the offer to match his profile. The ink wasn't dry before he was on his way to Karachi._

As for the woman… in another timeline, an earthquake in the eighteenth century would have destroyed most of her shelter. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, some events would push the SGC to discover the Astria Porta left here by the Alterans millions of years ago and start an archeological dig. After a long search, they would find the sleeping woman. The lead scientist would call her Ayiana, her real name staying unknown. Unfortunately Ayiana would die soon after her awakening, having spent the last of her energy to cure the members of the expedition infected by the disease she carried, the very the plague that had wiped out the Ancient civilization.

 _Well, not this time… this time, Ariana, to give you back your real name, I wish you a long and happy life. This time, your future will be different from the past I remember._

She remembered all the little details she had discovered when going back in time and preparing things so that history had no chance to repeat itself. Like the fact Ariana didn't bother with correcting the SGC people because she thought 'Ayiana' was just how her name was pronounced in the humans' language.

She also had been able to fill another little blank, an incoherence between what she learned about the limitations of Alteran coldsleep technology and the fact Ariana survived for seven million years of it without any added wrinkle. The disease was actually the answer. It was magical, necromantic in nature, and it changed a simple slowing down of metabolic processes into a complete pseudo-death.

 _Thankfully, the original Ariana did not rise after she died of exhaustion… or maybe she did and the NID omitted to tell us about it. Ah… and do not forget the last little tidbit: the reason why a Goa'uld could heal it while all of the Ancient technology of the time couldn't. Naquadah and magic are non-mixy to quote an old friend._

But that was then. In the now, in the present she was forging, Ariana would live. Apollo had the knowledge the Alterans of the time lacked. A cure had been applied before she opened the ice to allow Philippe to find her. She extended her arm, letting the snowy owl that had observed the scene for her perch on it.

"So it's done?" asked a voice near her as she petted the bird.

The woman who said that was busy rolling herself a cigarette. With her white soldier gear, probably pilfered from some Red Army stock and the Mosin-Nagant sniper rifle on her shoulder, she was far from the image classical authors had of Diana the Huntress. She had decided on a change of gear since she gave her blessing to a hunter of the Ural Mountains during the last war. This had made… kind of a mini-scandal in Olympus.

"Yes, it is done. Our first big alteration to the timeline, or rather the first one that can be detected by seers if they're lucky enough."

Diana sniggered at Minerva's remark. Both knew very well that Janus' machines in Olympus were pouring out a lot of 'temporal smog'. It made things very difficult for any seer that wanted to look at anything other than an established prophecy. It also made it much more difficult to realize that the relevance of those prophecies was decreasing.

"Weird to think that's B's grandparents… and that we just made sure she would have a different gran. By the way, Janus says taking care of Jupiter is not something we can push back much further. He said that with what we just did, the last limit is in 1969."

"It will be done before that. The pieces for removing that bastard are almost all in place."

"Amen to that… each time he looks at me with that decidedly un-fatherly gaze, I feel like shoving his lightning bolts where the sun doesn't shine."

"It's not like he's really your father, Faith."

"Aaah," replied the former Dark Slayer, taking a long drag on her smoke. "Sure. In my head I know that. I know that I'm just pretending and that thanks to the trick the original Diana did with her memories, most of the 'family' just wrote off any difference between her and me as the usual Olympian quirkiness. In my guts now… I've been playing that game for twelve thousand years. When I think of myself, I say 'Diana', not 'Faith'. There is just too much glue on the mask and I'm not sure it will ever fully come off. I'm also sure it's the same for you… Elizabeth."

"You are, sadly, right," replied the other goddess after a short silence. "I remember being Elizabeth Weir but I am still her? Am I Minerva or something in-between? I don't know but I know why I did it. And so do you."

"Yeah… so that our past isn't their future… and I feel like a fuckin' X-Man saying that. I'm not saying that we didn't have good moments in the last twelve thousand years… but I would like to try to be a little more like the old me."

"Hence the sniper rifle."

"Nah, that's something Diana would… well maybe not as she had that whole… how did you call her?"

"An eco-terrorist."

"Right, nature good, civilization bad, that thing. What she missed is that hunting is not a question of technology, but of spirit. You wait for your prey, meld with the environment and strike at the perfect moment. Snipers live for that. So I had a little chat with Mars and we agreed that snipers are under my protection. But that's not what I meant by the old me. What I meant is to finally be able to do all the things our dear Venus loves so much without having to make sure I send all the paparazzi to Uncle Pluto."

Minerva could only laugh. Of course, mythology was only an approximation of reality. It wasn't simply the fact that, unlike the modern monotheisms, there were no official sacred texts or dogma and that each poet was pretty much free to interpret things as he wanted. The problem was that the Olympians themselves had taken some liberties with the truth when telling some stories to the humans. Add to this the fact that the gods did not necessarily agree on which lies to tell… the result was a little messy, particularly when you considered the genealogy.

 _And, in other cases, it didn't matter that we told them the truth. They saw the facts through the filter of their own values, their own idea of political correctness._

The chastity vow Minerva, Diana and Vesta took in mythology was such a divergence. It was true that the three goddesses did not have a family or children but… it wasn't for the reasons the Greeks or the Romans believed. For Vesta, it was a matter of belief. While the Alterans were not religious people they still had some kind of ancestor cult and sometimes, an Alteran decided to become a Guardian of Virtues, acting as a philosophical counselor and renouncing family life to serve the community.

Diana's case was a different matter. Contrary to what certain myths said, it wasn't a question of having been disgusted by the pain of childbirth experienced by Latona. It was the matter of Diana being a misanthropic bitch who considered humanity an invasive species that should have stayed in Prometheus' lab. Faith had taken some little steps to change that reputation since she took over, like maintaining a suite of nymphs, but there was only so much she could do while maintaining the masquerade.

 _And for me as Minerva… well, putting my career before any personal life is something I was already all too familiar with as Elizabeth Weir. But, just like in Diana's case, this was not acceptable for the Greeks and Romans. It remains that, unlike to my predecessor, I am not a frigid bitch taking out her frustrations on poor girls like Medusa or Arachne._

"A sesterce for your thoughts," said Diana.

"Just thinking about how much of a bitch my predecessor was…"

"I have to agree with Mars on this one, M. She was in dire need of a good lay… and so are you in my opinion. With a little luck, we'll be finished with 'Daddy dearest' for the Summer of Love and you will be able to take the occasion to liberate yourself too."

She blushed a little. She knew that Venus would never let her live it down if she was caught but she longed to be considered as a woman again instead of some untouchable, virginal marble effigy.

 _Only a few decades left before D-Day… then it will be a whole new game._

She delved into the perfect memory her predecessor had gifted her with. She remembered the choice they both took, so long ago…

* * *

 **SGC, alternate 2004**

Elizabeth Weir was looking at the refugees going through the Stargate. There was no more time for secrecy or carefully prepared Alpha site list now, not when Cheyenne Mountain was besieged and the enemy already slaughtering its way through the upper levels. They were evacuating everyone they could, the defense falling back as they did. Once the last group started to cross, they would switch the self-destruct on and abandon the planet.

 _Where did it go wrong?_

Of course, the SGC had known enough alerts to have procedures put in place in such cases. There had even been some exercises, as much as could be staged without telling the people of the upper levels too blatantly what they had already guessed: the Deep Space Telemetry project hosted in the deepest levels of the mountain was a cover for something else, something that probably went in the same folder as the project Blue Book.

The problem was that all of those scenarios had not been thought out for their present enemies. When they had been designed, the capabilities of the Goa'uld System Lords were what they thought about. No one would have thought that they would be using that evacuation plan because of a demon invasion.

She remembered when the world was simple, when she was an idealistic young woman freshly out of the university. She thought she could get people to talk to each other, that peaceful negotiations were better than war. Since then, she had learnt that there were things you should never negotiate with, not if you valued your soul.

Her first brush with the supernatural had been while she was an aide during a UN mission in Africa. She had been shocked to learn that governments knew but that they preferred people to live in a blissful ignorance rather than reveal that monsters were real. Even if that meant disguising the slaughter of a whole village by demons as an Ebola outbreak.

So she had worked, climbing to reach the highest levels, hoping to change things once there… and ended up looking at a box of pills and a bottle of tequila when she understood how screwed up the game really was. Thankfully, a call from on high interrupted her morbid thoughts and again gave her some hope as she was offered command of the SGC. She thought that with the resources of alien worlds, she would finally be able to do something.

 _But I was too late, far too late._

She looked again at the refugees. How many did they manage to save? A few hundreds? A thousand? Did it really matter when billions were dying – or worse – outside? They weren't even necessary for humanity to survive. The Goa'uld had, ironically enough, already taken care of that when they took slaves from Earth thousands of years ago. Their descendants had formed new civilizations and the refugees from Earth would likely ally with some of them. Maybe they would manage to keep something of Earth's culture alive and that would at least be something.

 _Still, there is one chance,_ she thought as the gate deactivated, the last of the refugees having gone through.

"Rodney?" she asked the man sitting at the control computer.

"Programming the sequence for Pegasus galaxy now. We will have to go quickly. The ZPM is burning its last reserves."

She nodded. This was their last chance. An Ascended One called Janus had contacted them shortly after they lost Antarctica to the demons, barely managing to take the Zero Point Module from the ruins of the Ancient outpost. He had given them a set of coordinates and told them there was very little time left, because Wolfram and Hart had found a way to recreate the Holy Grail. The other Ascended Ones would, according to him, soon decide to blow up the planet to preserve the rest of the galaxy.

So they were taking that chance. What Janus had said about the set of coordinates corresponded to what Daniel Jackson had managed to tell them about the City of the Ancients. Maybe, just maybe, they would find there something that would allow them to save Earth.

"… Chevron eight locked," said Rodney McKay. "Wormhole for Pegasus stable. We have six minutes before we run out of energy."

"Lock the computer and let's go down with the others."

The scientist nodded as she took a remote. Once she pushed this button, there would be thirty seconds left before a nuke vaporized the SGC. The Stargate would probably survive, but be buried under the mountain. More importantly, there would be no data for the demons to retrieve.

She joined the rest of the team in the embarking room, noticing they were already crossing. Still… a group of soldiers rushed in, closing the blast door behind them. A young brunette woman kicked a bucket with enough strength to leave a mark in the concrete wall the metal recipient hit.

"Faith?"

"Sorry, Doc. Buffy… she just had to play hero again. She charged the demons to give us time to retreat and… she was on the wrong side of the charges when the tunnel collapsed."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. Her history with the Watchers and the Slayers was complicated. During her first contact with the supernatural, she had seen the worst of the Watchers. True, their paternalistic attitude was not completely unwarranted. They had been doing their job for a long time and mostly doing it well. Their problem was that they didn't understand the changes the world had gone through since the Industrial Revolution. When the demon called the First Evil used terrorist methods to take them out, they crumbled faster than the French Army in 1940.

So when, after beating the First Evil and destroying the town of Sunnydale in the process, a few surviving Field Watchers and a host of newly-activated Slayers reformed the Council, she had taken advantage of her recent command at the SGC and made contact. It had not been easy. Buffy and her folks had had some bad experiences with a black operation called the Initiative. They were still working things out when… shit hit the fan.

She had a look at Faith. She knew the girl's past, the mistakes she made and how much she paid for them. Right now, she was probably thinking things like 'it should have been me staying back'.

"Faith…"

"It's okay, Doc. Buffy… she wasn't well since they killed Dawnie."

They. Faith didn't have to say who they were. The Circle of Black Thorns, the cabal of demons and sorcerers behind all of this. The ones who opened the gates of hell by sacrificing Dawn Summers in an unholy ceremony marrying Ancient technology and black magic.

"Ladies, I'm sorry," said the Major Ferretti, "but we have to go."

They all nodded and Elizabeth had a last look for the SGC. She pushed the button of the self-destruct remote and walked through the Stargate.

* * *

 **Camp Diogenes, 1947**

Camp Diogenes had been built in a small valley roughly two hundred kilometers away from the Little America station set up by Operation Highjump a few months before. Finding the place had actually been easy. Shackleton's people had scouted the area during the Nimrod expedition and marked it down as a possible emergency camping site. As for the name, it had come as a kind of pun after seeing the half-barrel shape of their main shelter.

All in all, the experiment had worked, even if transporting all the materials to construct and supply the base for the winter had been a pain. Even if things had been working relatively well, all of the members of the expedition agreed on one point. Without technical progress on generators and vehicle consumption, the concept of inland bases would probably be considered too costly.

Georges Farnsworth, meteorologist and chief of the expedition, was busy taking some weather readings from the observatory they had set up on an exposed rock above the shelters when he saw two sleds approaching the valley's entrance.

 _Alain and Philippe? They're in quicker than expected._

He finished noting down the measures of the last series and walked down, reaching the shelter's entrance at the same time as them. He frowned as he saw Philippe scoop something human-sized and tightly wrapped in furs from his sled.

 _Bar that. Not human-sized. Human with the way he is holding that body._

"Alain, the door," said the Frenchman.

The Belgian glaciologist did not wait and opened the door for his colleague and his precious burden. Georges could not help but notice how agitated the two men were.

"Who is he?" he asked.

"She, Georgie," replied Alain as they entered the shelter. "It's a woman… and maybe the greatest discovery since… since…"

 _What did he see?_ Thought the Englishman, seeing his colleague's haunted gaze. "Alain, where did you find her? What did you see?"

"See… right, focus. We have pictures. I will go develop them."

"No, you're too nervous," he replied taking the camera from the man's hand. "Nigel, you develop them," he added, handing the device to another member of the expedition. "Samuel, you take care of the dogs. Alain, you come with me."

"On it, Georgie," replied Nigel and Samuel.

Farnsworth dragged the glaciologist behind him, entering the camp. Just as he thought, Philippe had gone straight to their small infirmary and was having Marc examine her. The Canadian doctor frowned at them disapprovingly before shooing Philippe out of the room and closing the door.

"He…" started Alain.

"Yes, Marc is reminding us to be gentlemen and give the lady some privacy," replied Georgie. "Philippe, where did you find her?"

"Roughly three hours from here, near the Black Rock Pass," replied the Frenchman, using one of the unofficial names their team had given to local landmarks. "She… listen Georgie, this is so incredible that it will be better if you see the pictures we took. I will take care of the dogs while…"

"Phil, Samuel is doing that. I need to know what put Alain in that state."

"Right… there are ruins under the ice there. A civilization unknown to modern historians."

"Stop. Can you elaborate on that last sentence?" he interrupted.

"There are esoteric texts that reproduce inscriptions like the ones we found there, but the key to translate them is lost to humanity. They are said to be older than human history though. As for the woman…"

"She was sleeping in the ice," said Alain, "There were machines there… so old and yet more advanced than anything I have seen."

"Sleeping in the ice?" asked Georgie. "You mean frozen? How…"

"I don't know," replied Philippe. "I suppose that the machine she was in is some kind of hibernation engine."

The door opened and the three men looked inside. The woman was now tucked in the bed, her strange white and beige clothes deposited on a nearby chair. Marc came out and started to prepare his pipe.

"How is she?" asked Georgie.

"Sleeping soundly but other than that… no trace of frostbite or even hypothermia. Her temperature is normal and I could see no symptom of a disease. You all have to remember though that my equipment here is limited."

The four men turned their head as they heard faint noise of the nearby blankets moving. The woman was looking at them and Philippe was struck by the depths of her hazel eyes.

"Hem… Aveo," she said, raising her right hand to wave at them as she sat in the bed.

Georgie and Alain immediately averted their eyes when the blanket fell from her chest. Philippe, on the other hand, could not help but notice her lean body before her remembered his manners and did the same. Marc sighed and moved to have the woman cover herself.

She said something and, noticing their incomprehension, started to look around the room. Advising a notebook and a pencil, she rose from the bed, making sure to keep herself draped in the blanket and made a gesture toward them.

Marc, recognizing this as a request for permission to use the items, gave them to her. She sat back on the bed and immediately started to draw. It was a simple schema, showing a silhouette with something looking like a sinusoidal wave coming out of his mouth and another with the hand near his ear. Using the pencil, she pointed the one talking, then the men and the one listening, then herself. She drew an arrow and then two other silhouettes talking together.

"You mean that you can learn our language just by listening to us?" asked Alain, not really expecting a reply.

The woman nodded, smiling mischievously. Philippe smiled back as he was starting to understand. She seemed to be frighteningly, maybe even superhumanly intelligent and she had guessed the content of Alain's question, maybe gathering clues by interpreting his body language. This was probably how she intended to learn enough to communicate with them unless…

 _Unless there is magic at work. I need to make some elixir of true sight…_

He noticed her gaze on him. Obviously, his own caution had not escaped her and she was maybe trying to understand its reasons. He had gone against his own training in the ruins, bringing her directly to the Camp because his guts told him it was the right thing to do. Even if she wasn't human, he knew several demons who were better people than many humans and had helped the Resistance during the war.

As his eyes locked with hers he felt something, like a contact. His own mental defenses fell like a guillotine. She frowned and looked at him with… was that understanding? She started to draw again, two silhouettes, one of a man and another of a demented, tentacled shape.

"Alteras," she said, pointing the human shape, then herself. "Nefastus," she added pointing at the demented shape.

"What can she… Nefastus… like _néfaste_ in French, something bad," said Alain.

"A demon," added Philippe.

She nodded in understanding, then pointed at herself, before crossing the tentacled shape. Philippe easily took the meaning and understood how she was about to learn their language so quickly. She was using the conversation to direct their thoughts and collect what she needed directly from their mind.

 _But if she can do that, why not a direct contact? Maybe…_

"Alteras?" asked Philippe pointing at himself.

She shook her head and started to draw again. A silhouette with a cane, made to look elderly. Another that looked like a child.

"Alteras," she said, pointing at the old person on the drawing, then at them with one hand while the pencil was on the child.

 _Yes, we're different species and she's afraid to fry our brains if she contacted us directly._

"Human," he said, pointing the child on the drawing.

Her hand brushed his and he felt again a contact, except this time, it wasn't mental. Yet, he was certain she was doing something, something magical.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Vril…" she pointed back to her first drawing, looking obviously frustrated.

They brought her warm clothes so that she could join them in the common room, as the infirmary was more than cramped with all of them. Of course, the three other members of the expedition joined them, Nigel with the now developed pictures.

They started to talk about what they were doing here, looking at her as she listened. It was as if her concentration diminished with time, her superhuman brain finding connections, reconstructing the rules of their language from what they said.

Still, one word was hammering Philippe's mind again and again: Vril. He knew that word all too well. Even before it became one of the concepts used by the theosophists of the nineteenth century, it was cited in several serious occult texts as an old word for a concept named chi, prana, ka, or, to use the one he was the most familiar with as an alchemist, Aether. The all-permeating fluid, the life force of the universe.

"My name is Ariana," she said after a while. "I thank you for saving me from my prison."

"You were imprisoned?" asked Georgie.

"Hmm… abandoned would be a better word. Left alone, the only Alteras on a world plagued with Nefastus."

"Philippe?" asked Alain, looking at him.

"There are ancient texts saying that the world did not start as a paradise… you remember that discussion we had about Lovecraft? He read those texts and decided to write about them. We call them the Old Ones and… it's not a very healthy subject. Suffice to say that they're gone and that there are people making sure to neutralize the crazies trying to bring them back."

"True," said Ariana. "Their powers were an insult to Reason itself and I am glad to know that they were banished from this universe. My people tried to fight them… but we lost. The last survivors have left this… how do you call the big band of stars in the sky?"

"The Milky Way," replied Samuel.

"Poetic… I like it," she replied. "In our last days, there were… a, not a fight… we were arguing. We had… servitors called Agyreas. We created them but our chiefs… they became angry when the Argyreas disagreed with our ways. They decided to destroy them but I was against it. I warned them and allowed them to flee… so they punished me by leaving me here."

"Are we the descendants of Argyreas," asked Marc, who remembered the drawing with the elder person and the child.

"No… I read Philippe's… life code and it's different. I know my creation."

She took back the notebook and started to draw again. This time, it was more intricate, like a portrait. The head she was drawing seemed human… except for one major trait: pointed ears.

"The ears are the easy thing… the chiefs insisted, so that we could easily distinguish them. But, there are other differences. We are… thinkers. Scientists. Argyreas are fighters. Stronger, faster. We made them for the war but it was too late. Humans are different and… I don't know. Maybe our life code mixed with this planet's life or maybe…"

"Maybe?" asked Georgie."

"Another group was left behind but… it was different. They left on their own, during the war."

"Were they fleeing?"

"No… the opposite. They… there are limits, things we refused to do. They thought… winning was more important. The Nefastus. We could feel they were bad, wrong. They… everything they touched became bad. Those who left… they decided to understand the Nefastus. Fight them with their own power. Contact with Saturn and his team was cut."

"Saturn?" asked Samuel with round eyes.

"You know the name?"

"Yes," replied Marc. "In our legends, Saturn was a god, associated with time."

"God?"

"A being you believe in and worship for protection," said Georgie.

Ariana rose and started to swear in her own language. Unsurprisingly after her use of the name Saturn, it sounded like some dialect of Latin. Tiny bolts of blue-white lightning started to dance between the fingers of her right hand. Seeing this, she immediately stopped her pacing and took a few deep breaths.

"Sorry," she said. "Ori… gods. This is a bad thing for us. Very long ago, before we came on Terra there was… a war among our people. My… parents' parents, they went in exile, because they would not submit to the Ori."

She sat back, suddenly looking very tired.

"Can I rest?" she asked. "Still… dormata… too long."

"Of course," said Marc. "The bed in infirmary is the best place. More private than our dorm."

* * *

 **On a nearby mountain, at the same time**

"She scared me a little there," said Diana/Faith as she looked at the base. "I didn't realize she was that advanced."

"Pluto and Janus discussed the matter and they have a theory. According to it, the Alterans were in their golden age when they reached Earth. Vril users like Ariana were not unusual and they were often among the leaders of the Alterans. Of course, the Undying Curse the Old Ones released was tailored to target them more forcefully than others. Those who left with the city-ship… they were the broken remains of their people and despite all their efforts in the Pegasus galaxy, they never recovered the greatness they had before the Old Ones, even after they Ascended," replied Minerva/Elizabeth, her smile becoming cruel with that last sentence.

"And we Olympians being 'mutants' who dabbled in the forbidden arcana of the Ori, we're kind of heretics for her, right?"

"She'll come around."

"Speaking of the city-ship… do you think it has survived?"

"It did. I… may have asked Vulcan for a spare ZPM and gone there while we were all prevented from doing anything on Earth during the Goa'uld invasion."

Atlantis, around 10'000 BC

Faith was looking by the window, looking at the submerged city and at the force field protecting it. Since the Council allied with the SGC, she had slowly gotten used to all that sci-fi stuff the Air Force had been doing. She still had some difficulty wrapping her mind around a few things. Sure, she knew about demon dimensions so being on a different planet was not that strange. The problem was that what had happened since she crossed the Stargate to go to Atlantis had managed to top her bizarre-o-meter against the war she participated in against the First Evil.

First, there were the Wraiths. It had taken half a second to notice that the aliens registered on her Slaydar. Even without that, the whole 'life force absorption' thing was a big giveaway. It just wasn't a thing non-magical beings do. Sure, they were not as strong or fast as vampires, but, unlike most of them, they had brains and routinely used weapons and starships. It had forced her to reevaluate a lot of things about how she fought. Had she been less… set in her ways, she may have been able to save more of the expedition's people.

Second, there were all the problems that needed science-y people to fix, like the fact Atlantis had been running out of energy when they reached it in 2004. Like the problem they had now.

She listened a little while as Elizabeth and that Alteran scientist called Janus talked. Thankfully, the translator earbud she wore was translating things into English. She just knew a few words of Alteran that Radek taught her… she wiped a tear away. Radek Zelenka had always been nice to her. He respected her and there weren't all those wounds that never really healed like with the Scoobies… but she hadn't been able to save him.

 _Know what they're talking about anyway… We're the only two survivors from the expedition because we used that Ancient DeLorean and just like McFly, didn't check the time machine's settings before reaching the 88 miles per hour. Got shot down by the Wraiths because right now, a shitload of years in the past, there is that war the Ancients lost against the Wraiths and that we found traces of in the twenty-first century. And now Doc Janus Brown is telling us that the morons of the Alteran Council destroyed this period's DeLorean, so we're stuck for good._

Sure, they were welcome to follow the Ancients as they went back to Earth. The tiny little problem would be that she would have to wait over ten thousand years to find a Starbucks. She listened distractedly as Elizabeth talked with Janus about the energy problem the city had in the future – or the present – she was getting a little confused on the matter. There was something about making manual adjustments on the mega-batteries Radek called a ZPM… every three thousand years.

 _There has to be something we can…_

"Janus," said Elizabeth. "Faith will go with you and I will stay, use one of your coldsleep capsules to make the changes. It will give the expedition more time when it arrives."

"This… is possible," replied the Alteran. "But for such a long duration…"

Images from _Back to the Future_ rushed in Faith's mind. Marty disappearing from the picture, then almost from reality because history changed. She already knew it didn't work like that, something about parallel realities branching out from what little she had retained of Janus' explanations. But then…

"Liz, that's bullshit," she cut in. "Suppose you stay and do that battery thingy. What good will it do? Earth will still be lost. The Wraiths will still be there. If there is one thing I learnt working with B and the Scoobies is that you have to think big and don't let the rules bother you."

"What do you suggest?" asked Elizabeth.

"The fucking Powers That Be," she replied, reigning in her temper. "We go back to Earth now and find a way to warn them, to tell them Wolfram and Hart is going to use that Grail thingy to kill them and then free the Old Ones. Then we have twelve thousand years to do something about it. Between you and me, we know a lot of what's supposed to happen and we have a good idea of what caused it."

"Janus? Is everything all right?" asked Weir as she noticed the strange face of the Alteran scientist.

"I have heard you talking several times about the Old Ones and noticed it was different from the term 'Ancient' you used for our people," he said, while calling a file on his lab's control computer. "Are these creatures familiar to you?" he added while a grotesque, vaguely arachnid thing appeared on the screen, soon followed by a whole gallery of monsters with demented shapes.

"Sure looks ugly enough to fit," replied Faith.

"When my ancestors visited Earth, those creatures that we call the Nefastus were there. Contact… did not end well. They released a bioweapon…"

"The plague that wiped out your civilization in the Milky Way?" cut in Weir.

"Yes. It was using methods we did not understand. Some of the victims… they mutated into this after clinical death," he concluded, making a bald, pale humanoid appeared.

"Übervamp… I mean a Turok-Han," said Faith. "Those methods, they're called magic."

"One of the most brilliant minds of the time said so but he was ridiculed and he and his research team stayed behind, trying to understand the enemy. Is the name Saturn familiar to you?"

"Like the planet?" asked Faith.

"Rather like the Titan we named the planet after and I think I understand. Saturn's team somehow managed to Ascend and our legends about the Olympians are about him and his team… I wouldn't be surprised if the Powers That Be are his descendants."

"Very well… I will help you to the best of my ability," said Janus. "But be aware that our project must stay secret. This… magic is still something many of my people refuse to consider."

"Nothing new here, pal," replied Faith. "Or old… well, whatever! So, what do we pack?"

* * *

 **Camp Diogenes, 1947**

"Okay…" started Samuel. "We all saw those tiny electrical arcs on her hand?"

The men in the common room all nodded, including Marc who had just come back.

"Good… so either we all went crazy and had a collective hallucination or… honestly I don't know if her telling the truth is not worse."

"But… I can admit that the electric eel can generate a painful discharge but for visible arcs… her hand should be burned," said Abelard.

"It wasn't electricity," said Philippe, deciding that secrecy wasn't an option anymore. "She used the word Vril.""

"Isn't that some occult nonsense…" asked Georgie.

"If you refer to the things that reached the public, yes. But there is the real deal… the simplest applications are the things fakirs or kung fu masters do, controlling their own body in ways that seem impossible. Mesmerism, magnetism, if done correctly, they just brush the surface. But her…"

"What is she?"

"I may have an answer," said Nigel, the biologist. "She used the word Argyreas and her people seem to have influenced the Romans, between a Latin-like language and one of them being called Saturn. Anyway, Argyreas, that's near from Argyreum, which means silvery in Latin. If I remember my mythology correctly, there is something about 5 races of men, from gold to iron."

"In Hesiod," confirmed Abelard. "We have to remember that this is a relatively 'late' work. Philippe, anything in those occult books of yours?"

"Not about the Argyreas. There is a group of supernatural entities called the Powers That Be that often came up in the text. I wouldn't be surprised if it was Saturn's people. If you're wondering why… it's because the Old Ones aren't here anymore. Saturn won."

"On a more practical matter," said Samuel, "what do we do about her? Alain was right and this is the greatest discovery in decades but… listen, she seems like a nice woman and she looks like she trusts us. With the way things are going between the Yanks and the Commies… both sides will want what's in her head. You heard her when she spoke of those Argyreas: my creation. They will want her to mass produce Captain America for them. Really, I don't trust us to use what she knows wisely."

"But then what?" asked Abelard.

"We keep quiet," replied Georgie. "We all swear not to reveal anything and we help her to disappear. Philippe… you're the one with all the… shady contacts. Can you help her?"

"I can. The hardest part will be to get her past the Americans but I have some ideas."

"Good… do we all agree?"

The seven men looked at each other. They were scientists but they were also apolitical, almost an exploit in this year. They had all known the horror of war to some degree and they knew how bad the situation between the USSR and the USA was becoming. They realized that by revealing the secret they had discovered here in Antarctica too soon, they risked losing it for good.

One by one, they swore.

* * *

 **Aboard the Southern Star, 1947**

Ariana stretched with delight as she felt the warmth of the sun on her skin. Sure, there was a part of her bitching about the primitiveness of their vessel, an ugly can of steel burning some kind of mix of organic molecules to power itself. She was doing her best to keep it quiet. She had received first contact training and she had a whole new world to explore and societies to study. Also, those people saved her from her frozen pseudo-death.

 _That and Philippe is very handsome…_

She fought down a shiver and looked at the sea, letting the dancing pattern of the waves calm her. As far as she knew, she was the last Alteran on the planet, maybe even in the galaxy. Yet, the legacy of her people survived. With a month to discreetly study the humans who saved her, she had come to the conclusion that them being gen-engineered by Saturn's people was the most probable explanation.

 _Probably Prometheus… he created them as successors, creatures that could become the new Alterans given enough time… they are even similar enough for me to…_

She blushed, her thought drifting again toward a certain handsome Frenchman. While all of the seven had been always civil toward her, there was a certain distance. She could guess why. They had been able to use their reason to accept her existence, but they would never feel fully comfortable near her, because of her powers. Philippe didn't have that problem.

He had been the one to help her get past those 'Americans', hiding her inside the equipment. The mind-altering substances he had used to make the crate she was hiding in completely uninteresting to the casual observer… They had proved her that the humans' knowledge of chemistry was not as limited as she had initially thought.

 _Correction, some people's knowledge._

"So, we're going to meet your friend in that city called Melbourne?" she asked, feeling his presence.

"Jacques? No, he is in Europe… pretty much on the other side of the planet. I will send him a telegram from there so that he can arrange for you to have all the legal documents you need."

"Right, you are still working with physical supports for most things. What's a telegram?"

"A mode of communication available to civilians. It's…"

He started to explain what he knew about telegraph, radio transmissions and Morse code, answering to the best of his ability her numerous questions regarding the history of those technologies and their impact on human society.

As she played with a lock of her hair, he started to smile.

Above them, completely invisible to the mortals around her, Venus of the Olympians smiled as a traitorous wave sent the Alteran into the human's arms. She nodded appreciatively as she noticed the level of synchronicity between their auras.

"Here, my little Ariana," she said softly. "You may not like us, and the Parcae know you have your reasons for that, but we will care for you. I give my blessing to your union with this man. You will heal his heart and he will give you bearings in this new world."

The goddess, still smiling, disappeared as Ariana basked in the warmth of the arms of a very flustered Philippe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author notes:** Thanks to all the people who took time to review chapter 1 or mark this story as a favorite. As this story is in the world-building stage, I am very interested in having reader opinions.

Special thanks to Narsil for betaing this chapter.

 **Disclaimer:** see chapter 1

 **Rating:** FR18

* * *

 **Calcutta, 1948**

Ariana mentally thanked Nigel's wife once again for the various fashion tips she had given her. In her opinion, human clothing was very impractical, particularly with all the rules one was supposed to follow to dress properly according to gender, ethnic group and societal class.

Of course, as they traveled by boat from Australia to India, she had noticed some things. Like the fact some people with fair skin considered people with darker skin as inferior.

 _How did Philippe say it? Most people will think I am a 'métisse' and wonder which human ethnicities I am made up of… and yes they will consider me inferior, because they are stupidly believing… enough of this._

An image flashed through her mind, making her think that there had been a moment when she had been pale enough for those people. It was shortly before she slept in the stasis pod. According to her estimations, she only had sixty days left before the Curse killed her then. So she had come up with a desperate plan that would take twenty years to accomplish. Her pod was programmed to wake her up for one day every six months and if some emergency signals came from the lab inside the mountain. While she slept, a healthy female Argyreas body would grow. All she would have to do then would be to transfer her mind into it.

 _Except that I never woke up for the 6.5 year mark. I woke up… From what Alain told me about the collapsed staircase… the lab was destroyed with the central computer._

Another thing she had no idea about was how she could have healed. Maybe her long sleep had made the Vril-corrupting effect of the curse decompose… all that she knew was that her body was clean and that she was even maybe vaccinated against the disease.

She clenched her fists as she looked at her reflection in her cabin's mirror. She remembered the smile of the Council member who told her that she would be abandoned on Terra. Oh, officially, it was because she had contracted the Curse and they could not risk having her on Atlantis. But she knew the truth. Her contamination was not a matter of chance or even carelessness. It was a cruel, calculated move done by the Council to punish her for the Argyreas, to condemn her to death without ever explaining the real motivation to the Alteran people.

Her hand rested on a briefcase. Back in Antarctica, they had disguised it by gluing parts of a human one over the Alteran design. She sent a tiny jolt of Vril on its surface and felt the lock react to her aura. Opening the lid, she contemplated once again the few remnants of her past.

A bracer of a metal looking slightly like brass, made to cover the right forearm and the top of the palm. It was a prototype, with various functions of detection and amplification related to Vril usage. Its main point was that it allowed her to get in synch with a planet's Vril currents, something Philippe had told her they now called ley lines, and tap their energy.

Neatly arranged crystals with a hexagonal section. They contained the equivalent of millions of human books. It wasn't as much as a repository of knowledge, but it was more than enough to have this planet's science make a huge leap forward if she so wished. Near them was packed a small field science computer with a complete miniaturized sensor suite.

Then there was the final piece, a grey sphere with etched symbols of warning in the Alteran language. Her initial plan, after completing her body switch, was to use the Astria Porta and find the surviving Argyreas. But, as she had told them to hide where the other Alterans could not find them, it was possible that they were on a world without a Gate. So she had coded a matrix of nano-assemblers to build herself a base in case she didn't find them.

 _The whole question being: will I dare to use it on Earth in this century? Probably not if I am to blend in with the humans._

She closed her briefcase, making sure to spray some of the 'fragrance of unimportance' Philippe had created on it. What the Frenchman had explained her about alchemy… it reminded her of how some Alteran scientists had sometimes improvised equipment after a starship accident left them stranded on a planet.

Alterans had only come to detect and understand Vril late in their technological development. Alchemists had found a way to use it as part of their chemistry, using it as a catalyzer to produce reactions that normally necessitated nanotechnology or big machinery.

 _Even nuclear reactions…_

Philippe had told her that the most fabled art of the alchemist, transmuting lead into gold, was indeed possible. However, other reactions were possible too. Uncontrolled chain reactions. This, more than gold, was the main reason why alchemists had shrouded their art in legends and hidden themselves.

 _But now, 'standard' human technology has unlocked nuclear fission…_

She banished the thought. Their boat would soon arrive in that city called Calcutta, where they would wait for a few days for another ship that would bring them to Suez and from there yet another ship to Marseille. She took the last piece of her 'human disguise'. She remembered what Nigel's wife had told her. Even if society had made a lot of progress regarding women's rights lately, there were many places on the way to Europe where she would avoid a lot of problems if she and Philippe pretended to be married.

She toyed a little with the ring, before slipping it on the correct finger. According to her papers, she was Ariana Venturi and they got married in New Caledonia. To be fair, the idea of having him as a companion was quite pleasant to her but… well, human and Alteran women were similar in quite a few things. Wanting to be properly courted was definitely one of those and there was no way she would consider getting intimate without it. Still… she had asked Nigel's wife for some tips on how to send the proper signals to her 'husband' as she doubted that the tactics her mother taught her some eons ago were still valid.

She took the briefcase, checked the cabin one last time and put her hat on. She walked as quickly as those ori-damned heels allowed her, wondering once again what had pushed Prometheus to create a species so willing to torture itself for the sake of fashion. Thankfully the stasis pod had protected her clothing and the briefcase from time. Even if she had to wear human clothes on the outside, she still wore her self-cleaning, smart fabric underwear under that dress.

 _Time…_

One of the first thing she had done once in Australia was to look at astronomical charts and use her computer to make some calculations. When the results had come… well, some people could have expected her to break down given the enormity of the number.

 _Thankfully, my people's history prepared me a little bit to discover that seven million years passed since I went to sleep._

When her ancestors' colony ship left their home galaxy to escape the Ori, the hyperdrive they used to cross the intergalactic void in search of a new home was rather experimental. Time for the travelers went just a tiny little bit slower than for the rest of the universe.

 _Yes, almost nothing, just a minor construction defect. Twenty years for my ancestors… a few millions for the rest of the universe,_ she thought with a little smile.

So while some may have melted down at the feeling that everything they knew was long gone for so long, she would do the same as her ancestors. She would take this opportunity for a fresh start and rebuild.

She reached the deck and rejoined Philippe. He was already arranging for their luggage to be transported to a hotel and they soon walked down on the pier. She felt him tense as he scanned the crowd and soon found the reason. It was a middle-aged, almost bald man with glasses rimmed in thick, black plastic. Probably European from his suit and tan and… he was looking straight at her, detailing her.

"Do you know him?" she asked Philippe.

"That's Jacques… why is he here?"

They walked quickly to reach the man.

"Ariana, please meet my old friend Jacques Berenger," said Philippe.

"Pleased to meet you," said Ariana.

"The honor is mine, Madame" replied Jacques, rolling the r slightly. "I am afraid that there are some complications and that our timeline has become much tighter than initially expected."

"What do you mean?"

"I will tell you as we move. I have arranged for transportation to get you back to Europe faster. Your luggage is being taken care of."

He led them toward a black car that drove away once they got in. Berenger quickly closed the separation window after giving some indication in Vietnamese to the driver.

"Jacques…"

"I am sorry for rushing you, but time is of the essence. First, officially, I am in Indochina. Second, this is not about Ariana, but about you, Philippe. Thankfully, there are only very few people aware of your existence, Madame."

"The last thing you told me is that the French government asked you to take care of something. They didn't hire you for your knowledge in atomic physics, right?"

"No, they hired me because of what I saw – and survived – when in Mauthausen. They hired me because De Gaulle trusts the Watchers even less than he trusts the Americans."

Philippe could only nod somberly. Governments had always known to one degree or another about the supernatural. There were, however, some tacit rules in place since the Christianization of the Roman Empire about not using magic in 'mundane' wars. The supernatural was considered to be the problem of a few specialists like the Watchers, some religious orders and independent 'troubleshooters' like his own family. Since the beginning of the century however… things had started to change. The world's population was reaching unprecedented levels while the various supernatural organizations were unable to grow correspondently. So the various governments felt they had to take up their slack… or, in some cases, didn't care at all about those tacit rules and were seeing how to use the supernatural for their own profit. As could be expected, the SS had been up to the neck in supernatural stuff.

"The reason why you need to be back in Europe quickly is because of Venturi Manor."

"The vampires pillaged and burned the place... let me guess, not as thoroughly as I was led to believe?"

"An underground vault was not touched. As, officially, all the Venturi are dead, an American law firm is pushing the local mayor to sell the land. I have reasons to believe they are a front for demonic interests. So I am giving you a chance to go there and empty the vault before it happens."

"Why not just tell people Philippe is alive? He could claim his family's land then," asked Ariana.

"Except that if I do that, the Order of Aurelius will know about it and resume their hunt," replied Philippe, shaking his head. "If this vault is the one I think it is, it is indeed better to empty it and rebuild elsewhere."

"Do you know where?" asked back Jacques.

"La Réunion," replied Philippe. "My uncle Francesco wanted to spend his twilight years in Hell-Bourg and he had me and Cousin Maria scout the island in 35."

"A cyclone hit the island a few weeks ago, quite hard from what I was told."

"What kind of island is it?" asked Ariana.

"Volcanic and rather young from a geological standpoint," replied Berenger. "The good point is that there is little demonic activity there. As it is a French Department, this will make some things simpler for me too. I suppose what you will have to transport from that vault is heavy, voluminous and fragile?"

"All in all, yes. I have contacts that can get me an appropriate boat in Port Said."

"I already prepared for that. A ship will wait for you in Ajaccio."

"This is a hell of a favor, Jacques," replied Philippe.

"As far as the Republic is concerned, Ariana is a human who grew up in an isolated demonic community in New Caledonia. It's not the first time that we have helped such people to make their way into the world and nobody will look at her real story as long as you stay quiet. I would, however, like to hear it at some point. As for the favor to you, my service will ask for your expertise in the future. Nothing that your family wouldn't have done, except it will be 'official'."

"Agreed," replied Philippe.

"Good," said Berenger as the car stopped.

They were still in the port but the vehicle currently docked at that pier was not a boat as Ariana had initially thought. She detailed it with interest. Of course, fixed wing aircrafts had not been used by the Alterans since the invention of anti-gravity, except for gliders. She appreciated the twin propellers, the white, red and black livery and the small details like the wheels on the side that indicated that the plane could take off from water and land alike.

"Admiring the view?" asked a rather high-pitched voice in English.

She looked around and saw a petite Asian woman in a blue mechanic overall coming out of the aircraft.

"Achiko von Schlesien," said the woman, extending her hand.

"Ariana Venturi," replied the Alteran, shaking the offered hand. "I was… just wondering about some technical characteristics of this plane," she added, taking a gamble as she noticed the small black grease marks under the young woman's nails.

"Well… this is a Consolidated PBY-5A Catalina. It's an American design. As you can guess, it's not my favorite country but they sure know how to build planes. Let me do you the honors while our men stare at each other."

She looked at them. They were indeed staring at each other, probably unsure of what to say. Philippe on one side, with his dark hair and what she had been told to be a typical Mediterranean build. On the other side, a slightly taller man that she guessed to be Achiko's husband, with fairer skin and hair than her own 'man' and Jacques looking at the scene in a way that made her think of an ethologist observing two feral beasts vying for dominance.

 _It has to be because of that war Philippe told me about…_

She followed Achiko inside as the Japanese woman explained how the plane had been refitted for civilian transport, both passengers and small, valuable cargo that needed to go from A to B quickly… and without too many questions asked.

Outside, Philippe was looking at Heinrich von Schlesien. The man had the rigid air of old Prussian nobility that went with his name and a piercing stare that had something of the eagle. Of course he had recognized the black leather jacket the man was wearing as an aviator jacket from the Luftwaffe.

He looked at Jacques. He knew what his friend had gone through, how much he had suffered, first at the hands of the Gestapo and then in the camps. Why did he, of all people, choose this man to play taxi?

"Mr. von Schlesien comes with references," said Jacques. "You have a common acquaintance. A man you met in Tibet in your case."

Pieces fell together in Philippe's mind, reminding him of the strangest encounter he had made during his stay in the Himalaya.

"How did you meet the Count?" he asked the German, following his hunch.

"By chance in Saigon, in '46. He needed a pilot immediately, so he bought this plane and hired me and my wife. He told me to keep it as payment… it was only later that I understood that I met a legend."

Philippe smiled, remembering kindly his own encounter with the Count of Saint-Germain. The immortal alchemist had an infuriating way of waltzing through difficulties like a character out of an Alexandre Dumas novel.

"If the Count trusted you, then that is good enough for me," he said, extending his hand.

"Gut. I am glad to let all that madness – I mean the war and what my people did by listening to him – behind me," replied Heinrich, shaking it.

Inside the plane, Ariana could only smile as she heard Achiko's enthusiasm when describing one system or another. The Japanese woman would have done well among her people. She also seemed terribly young to the Alteran, barely over twenty.

"How did you meet your husband? Pardon me if I am too nosy, I grew up in a secluded place and I still have some difficulties knowing what is considered proper."

Achiko looked at her, as if she was gauging her and finally smiled. From her discussions with Nigel's wife, Ariana had some idea of how hard some things would be for an active woman like Achiko. As the Alteran culture had no distinct gender roles apart from the obvious, biology-dependent matters, she knew that she would need time to at least fake it well enough not to be scandalous.

"That's all right. I'm not the typical Japanese wife as you can see, rather kind of a disgrace as far as most of my family is concerned. Did your husband tell you about the war?"

"Yes… this has to do with those stupid ideas about human races?"

"In part… Heinrich lets me be what I want to be. He doesn't mind if my hands are covered in grease and if I know how to pilot. For my family, that's not how a proper woman should behave. Otoo-san – my father – was the only one to understand me and… well, that's the past. I'm happy now, even if it's a little grating that some of our customers get nervous if they see me piloting."

"Maybe you can show me how later?"

Achiko's smile confirmed she had hit right with her question. The mechanic was, like herself, very much looking for a female friend. She would just have to make sure to hide the fact she came from a culture in which aerial vehicles were as common as cars were to the humans of this era.

 _It shouldn't be too hard… the mechanical controls will be a challenge by themselves._

She went back outside for a little while, just the time for Berenger to say goodbye. She thought again about those words Achiko had used: 'our men'. She knew that there was a part of her that wanted it. The little study she had done of the human genome had shown her that human-alteran hybrids would be fertile. It wasn't that surprising as the differences between them were of the same order of magnitude as the ones existing between two different breeds of dogs.

 _Let's give him a little more time to get the hints…_

* * *

 **Corsica, 1948**

Achiko von Schlesien was doing her best to keep concentrating as she helped to maneuver the rubber raft. They were somewhere on the coast of Corsica, a kilometer or so north from a place called 'Pointe de la Corba' and the place… well it was a little ominous with the burnt manor above the cliff. Their plane was anchored a little further away. For now, it was just her, Heinrich and the Venturi.

 _I hope my load calculations are correct…_

During the technical stop in Aden, Ariana had come to her to ask about the plane's cargo capacity and had checked her numbers against some others provided by Philippe. They had come to the conclusion that it was possible to transport everything with the plane, provided they did a few stops on the way.

Philippe was now leading toward the cliff, to a place where the waves were thankfully small enough to allow for approach. He disembarked expertly and tied the rope Heinrich threw him inside a hole… a hole where a sturdy bronze ring was sealed to the rock. The adventurer made another manipulation in the same hole and a small section of the cliff slid back, revealing a dark tunnel.

"I feel as if I am in an Arsène Lupin novel," she said, remembering the paperbacks she had bought when they were in Saigon to help with her understanding of French.

"Well… this is not the _Aiguille Creuse,_ but we have our share of secret passages," replied Philippe, laughing.

The two men helped the women to come ashore and lifted the raft out of the water, taking it inside the passage. Ariana turned her flashlight on and started to look at the tunnel.

"How old is this?" she asked as they all went in and Philippe closed the door behind them.

"Centuries. The first version of the manor was a watchtower built during the reign of Charlemagne. My ancestors arrived from Genoa during the fourteenth century and acquired the place. They discovered those natural caves and expanded them."

"How much?" asked Heinrich.

"See for yourself," replied Philippe, hitting a tuning fork against the rock wall.

As the pure note rose soft yellow light started to shine, coming from crystals globes suspended in various places about the cave. There was a dock and something that looked like a fishing boat moored there. They could also see a complex mechanism on the wall in front of the boat and something like an elevator at the end of the cave furthest from the sea.

"I understand better why you said there will be no problems getting things out," said Achiko, trying not to think too much about lamps triggered by sound. "Though… are you sure it's seaworthy? I mean…"

She was pointing at the poor state of the ship's hull.

"In this place, appearances are just that: an illusion," replied Philippe as he knocked on the hull.

It didn't resonate like the wood it was supposed to be, but like metal. Intrigued, Achiko went aboard and opened the small hatch leading to the engines. They were in pristine condition and much more powerful than she expected. Their compartment was armored, too.

"The Italian Navy misplaced a few spare parts back in '35," said Philippe. "A cousin of mine acquired them and… built this," he finished, his voice betraying his sorrow.

Ariana immediately went and laid her hand on his shoulder. She knew all too well what it meant to lose everything.

"Thanks, Ariana," said Philippe. "Let's get over with this."

He led them up three flights of stairs, explaining that he preferred to check the elevator from the top before using it.

"Am I correct when I say that this place was built for smuggling?" asked Heinrich.

"Yes. My family has delved in alchemy for centuries and this is an art with many needs."

"I still have…"

"Some difficulties believing it, which is perfectly understandable," cut in Philippe. "You have what the Count said, maybe one or two tricks he did but… it could just be tall tales and prestidigitation, right?"

"Yes… how old is he… supposed to be?"

"I don't know. It's very difficult because… I know from my meeting with him that he is an expert in the creation of homunculi – artificial beings, humans in his case – and that he has a technique to transfer his conscience from one body to another. I met someone who thought he is in fact the Babylonian god Nabu, living hidden among the humans since Antiquity."

"Did he do that weird trick with his voice?" asked Achiko.

"You mean that strange echo? Yes, sometimes. There is also a strange thing he told me once. He said that he first learnt alchemy to free himself from the need for a sarcophagus. I have absolutely no idea what he meant by that."

They soon reached a stone wall with a bas-relief representing two entwined snakes.

"It looks like that staff you Westerners associate with medicine," said Achiko.

"Is it another secret passage?" asked Heinrich.

"Rather the door to a safe," replied Philippe. "As for how to open it… well, I hope this will shake off some of your doubts."

Philippe nicked his thumb on the left one's tooth and smeared the blood on the right one's tongue. The snakes' eyes started to glow with an ominous red light and the stone around them started to move as they uncoiled to form a circle, revealing an arched passage.

"Gott im Himmel," said Heinrich.

The problem was the way the stone was moving. An instant before, it had looked if it was just one block of solid stone and now… it was as if countless grains of dark, basaltic sand were moving with a mind of their own, sucked into the walls to open the passage.

The two von Schlesien looked at each other. Until now it had just been tales that could be lies and small things that could be parlor tricks. The sound-activated lamps had brushed the limit but thankfully not too much. This 'door' on the other hand…

"If you want to go back," said Ariana, "Philippe and I will understand. We both belong to that world while you two are just standing on the door, wondering if you should come through or not. But be aware of that saying of my people: the truth cannot be unseen."

Achiko looked at her husband and cuddled against him, whispering something in Japanese that the Alteran easily interpreted as 'I will go where you go'.

"I had a friend," said Heinrich. "He was in the Heer – the Army – and was chosen for a special project by the SS. I never saw him again after that but there were rumors… saying that a certain fortress in the Black Forest was to be avoided at all costs during the full moon. That was true, right?"

"I never heard of this particular project, though it would be something they would have toyed with," replied Philippe. "As for the other part of the question, yes, werewolves do exist."

"How…"

"A very important question. It is often difficult to answer but not impossible, contrarily to what some people would tell you. Those would have you believe that their magic will remain unknowable. We alchemists believe that magic is just a way to say 'I have no idea how this works and I don't even want to try to understand'."

"Let's start with the door then," said Achiko.

"Do you have a compass, Heinrich?" said Ariana.

"Yes."

"Put it near the wall. This stone is not what it seems."

The pilot took the item out of his pocket and approached the wall. He saw the needle suddenly move as he passed a line marked by the snakes' bas relief and become parallel to the wall.

"This sand is metal held together by magnetic forces!" said Achiko, feeling all giddy. "This means… it's science, Heinrich! Think about it this way: what if we were two samurais from the Sengoku Era and we had a look at our plane?"

"You're right… but this leads to another question."

"Why," said Philippe with a tired smile. "You will see before the day ends why we alchemists keep our science hidden."

"Then another, more in the how," said Achiko. "The blood… it's like in some of the old stories, right? The door only opens if the right blood is smeared on it?"

"Of course," said Ariana with a smile. "The two coiled snakes should have made it evident."

"Hem… why?" asked back Achiko.

"Very simply, there is a part of human cells that is unique for each person, except for identical twins. My people call it the life code. Its shape is a double helix, just like those snakes before the door opened."

"I see… that's like the constellations in the sky?"

"In a way."

They followed Philippe inside the vault. He once again used the tuning fork and the light rose, revealing a collection of crates. Achiko immediately switched back into business mode and took out a measuring tape, checking the crates' volume.

"It will be a tight fit," she said. "And that's if your weight estimates are correct."

"Some of these crates are only half-full. We will gain both space and weight by re-packing," replied Philippe.

"Let's get to work then," said Ariana.

They started to open the crates and move things, Achiko marking the crates according to their weight so that she could easily balance the load in the plane. She said jokingly that such calculations were keeping her mind off the fact they would transport one point two tons of gold.

Ariana was more interested in the books and had to resist skimming through each of them. She still made mental notes of all the languages she would have to learn so that she could fully exploit this treasure.

"What is this metal?" asked Achiko as she unveiled a small black ingot.

"Philippe, is this orichalcum?" Ariana asked as she ran her finger along it.

"Maybe. Most alchemists call it the star-metal because what little there is on Earth is said to come from meteorites. Another name I read about in a text that was pretending to quote the Book of Thoth is naquadah. But as for it being the fabled orichalcum… I don't know."

Ariana and Heinrich continued to pack while Achiko and Philippe went to verify the state of the elevator. As the Frenchman had suspected, the stairs leading to the manor were full of rubble, probably because of explosions in the laboratories above when fire ravaged the manor. The upper elevator leading from the manor to this level was likewise unusable.

"It looks fine," said Achiko after she checked the machinery. "What about power?"

"There is a generator we can use downstairs. There should be enough fuel left."

"Let's go start it then."

As they came back to the vault, having satisfactorily powered and tested the elevator, they noticed that Ariana was waiting for them with what looked like a letter in her hand.

"Philippe, you may want to have a look at this," she said. "It was used as a bookmark within a book called the _Pergamum Codex._ It's addressed to 'The Last Venturi."

He frowned as he took the letter and started to read.

 _Monsieur Venturi,_

 _A short time before Darla collected us to attack this place, the stars showed me what would come to pass. The vision was powerful enough to make me hide some things from my grandsire, such as the way to the deeper levels of your ancestral home or how to open the door to this vault._

 _I know that this is not the last time that the line of Aurelius and the Venturi clan will dance together. I have seen us all burn trying to extinguish the light of a blonde star-child bearing your blood… The stars showed me how a Venturi was hidden from us, how the clever owl led him to the star-lady that had fallen in the ice. We are doomed. I know it._

 _But the stars also showed me a way to save myself and my Spike. They showed me the broken doll of a shepherdess. A nasty dog thought her too precious to be lost and stuffed her with gears and red light to repair her. I saw her standing up to monsters coming to reap us all like wheat. She had a wonderful phrase then: "However 'insignificant' we might be, we will fight, we will sacrifice and we will find a way. That's what humans do."_

 _I will therefore fight the future where I end up burning and sacrifice what is needed to find a way. When Darla will round up the members of the line once again to fight the star-child, she will find that their numbers are diminished. When the time comes, I will don the shepherdess' garments and play the role the clever owl assigned to me._

 _Faithfully yours,_

 _Drusilla_

"I get from the content that this Drusilla is part of the group that slaughtered your family and that she seems to have precognitive powers," said Ariana.

"Precognitive?" asked Heinrich.

"She's a seer," replied Philippe. "I don't know how seers do their thing but I know that while many are crooks, some have real power. Ariana?"

"Nothing I can explain without giving you first at least a few seminars on how my people theorized space-time is working and its interactions with Vril. But we definitely recognize the possibility."

Achiko was looking at Ariana intently. She was a romantic young woman and when they had been stuck for months in Indochina after the war she had read a lot of French novels, including one by an author called Pierre Benoit. The first time she saw the exotic beauty, she thought that it was how she pictured the queen Antinea from the novel. Now, with her name, her outlandish scientific knowledge and what she had called that metal…

"Ariana, that place you grew up in… it's not called Atlantis by chance?"

In an instant, she knew. She had caught the fleeting emotion on Ariana's face, a sense of loss.

"We will talk more about that later, I think," said Philippe as he saw Ariana's discomfort.

They loaded all the crates on the ship, except one that Philippe had told them they would be leaving here. He opened it, taking out what looked like a crystal ball laid on a bronze tripod and several glass vials and pipettes.

"What are you preparing?" asked Heinrich.

"Even if we took the most important, there is much to be learnt from studying these walls, the door of the vault and so on."

"Explosives?"

"Yes," replied the alchemist as he started to use the pipettes to transfer measured quantities of the vials in the crystal sphere and put an airtight plug in place.

Inside, the mélange started to glow softly.

"We have an hour to leave before the reaction reaches the critical point."

"What will happen then?"

"The philosopher's stone fragments will force the hydrogen inside the sphere to combine into helium."

"Eh…" replied Heinrich.

"Atomic reaction," cut in Ariana, her voice icily serious as she marshaled them toward the lift.

None of them resisted. Philippe knew what would happen, of course. Those were forces alchemists knew how to master and the very reason why they kept themselves hidden. The von Schlesien were understanding it too now as what little they knew of atomic physics reminded them that changing lead into gold was not dissimilar from the fission used in atomic bombs.

"How much yield?" asked Ariana.

"Enough to make the whole cliff collapse. Not enough to reach the surface and contaminate the environment."

"The door to the dock?" asked Heinrich.

"It has a timer mechanism we will set so that it closes behind us."

"Good."

Later, as they were transferring the crates from the ship to the plane, they heard a rumble. A low altitude pass after they had taken off confirmed that what little was left of the Venturi House in Corsica was forever buried in rubble.

* * *

 **Venusberg, 1951**

There were a lot of legends in Germany about Venus holding court in a cavern situated under a mountain. One of the most famous of those, thanks to the opera Richard Wagner made of it, was the Hörselberg. Legends about human men lured to live in some subterranean fairy land were also found in other parts of the world, for example with the trolls in Scandinavia.

The world being what it is, some of these myths were a reassuring wrapping on a horrible reality, demons with pretty faces luring men to their doom. Others were of course just legends. But not the Venusberg. In fact, all the legends of Germany and Scandinavia concerned a pocket dimension that could be accessed from any sufficiently deep cavern if you knew the correct ritual. Sometimes one of the ladies living there, or even the queen of the land herself, fancied a mortal and invited him in.

Sometimes, thing happened just like in the legends and the mortal, unable to adapt to the new life offered to him, returned to the surface. But there were others who embraced this new existence and, having decided to raise the child they fathered with one of the women of the Venusberg, became 'fairies' themselves.

One may wonder why Venus, of all people, chose for herself and her court a subterranean place. For the Romans, going underground was to risk reaching the domain of Pluto. There were two reasons to this. The first was that the Goddess of Love had only set up this place after the Romans put their legends together. It had been during the reign of Augustus, after she finally convinced Vulcan to let her go. The second reason was a little deal she had made with Pluto. The condition the Lord of the Underworld had set in exchange for that boon was that the Venusberg would be considered a chthonian domain, technically under his rule rather than under Jupiter's.

Despite this fact, the Venusberg was no dark place. It had a sun and a full ecosystem, though some of the animals that could be found there had not been seen on Earth for millions of years. The mad ramblings of some visitors had many authors dreaming of a Hollow Earth.

It was therefore on a sunny hill that an item well-known to all Olympians stood: a ring made mostly of a metal the Alterans called Orichalcum and that the Goa'uld called Naquadah. It wasn't bearing the symbols found on the Astria Portae – again Chappa'ai for the Goa'uld – on other planets in the galaxy. This was a different network that the Olympians had set up for their own use. The wormholes these gates created were not designed to bridge the vast distances between stars but to pierce the veils of dimensions, allowing the gods to link their various domains between them.

Symbols started to light on the ring, soon showing the origin address of the incoming wormhole. A Chinese teenage girl, who had been following a path near the gate to visit a friend in another village of the hidden realm frowned a little. It was not the matter of the gate opening. This was common enough. No, what was making her wary was that the address lighting on the ring was not one of the other Olympian realms but from one of the hidden gates on Earth.

Silvery pseudo-water swirled inside the ring, coming out like a horizontal geyser that soon stabilized in a shimmering vertical surface. The girl smiled, then started to run toward the person that had come through the wormhole's event horizon.

"Sifu!" she hailed joyously, barely remembering to bow properly.

"Hello, Xin Rong," replied Diana. "It was not too boring when I was away?"

"A little maybe… but Lord Pluto let us give a hand to his troops while sealing one of the lower rifts."

"And it was fun?"

"Of course! And there were a lot of cute boys among… sorry, that's…"

Diana smiled as she noticed the girl's blush.

"Nah, no big deal, Xin Rong. I know how Slayers are. There is that whole 'hungry and horny' deal after a fight. At least now you know why."

"Yes, because of how Lord Mars and Lady Venus created us… but we know it's also you we have to thank for being able to spend our afterlife here."

"Just an idea when Venus set up the place," replied the goddess, shrugging.

Pluto was notoriously strict regarding matters of the afterlife. True, some people had been resurrected from time to time, but they were exceptions that the Lord of the Dead allowed personally. Even Jupiter's power did not extend to the Underworld.

Knowing all too well the short end of the stick all Slayers were handed when called, Diana had come up with a solution that was acceptable for her 'uncle'. Technically, the Venusberg was a chthonian domain and therefore under Pluto's rule, Venus acting as a proxy. This made it acceptable for a few dead people to be 'misplaced' there. In practice, of course, much would have to happen for Pluto to intervene in the Venusberg's affairs.

"Will you come to the festival this year?"

"I'll do my… hell, tell Nefer I'll be there."

"Thank you, Sifu! I'll run and tell them."

"See you, Xin Rong," said Diana with a smile as she watched the teenage girl dart toward a nearby village.

 _Good to see her so lively… a pity she had to die to learn how to live… Relax, only a few decades left before we change the rules._

The Huntress walked quickly, soon taking a path that led to a fairy tale castle on the bank of a lake. She could easily feel Venus' aura now… as well as that of a person who was definitely not her favorite goddess.

 _Have to be fair. She helped a lot._

She easily retraced steps she had taken many times in the last two millennia, soon reaching a terrace on the bank of the lake. Venus was here, taking tea with a blue-skinned woman who had a black she-hound lying at her feet.

"Venus, Hecate," she said, waving as she arrived.

"Diana! It's such a pleasure!" replied Venus, rising to hug the younger goddess fiercely.

"How is your mortal cousin?" asked Hecate.

Diana looked into the pale blue eyes of the Goddess of Witchcraft. Once again, she was reminded that Hecate was not one of them. Like many of the chthonian Olympians, her origins were darker… and definitely something they had kept out of the official mythology.

"Ariana and Philippe are fine," she replied while they all sat back down. "They settled on that island, near a place called Saint-Leu… mean waves there, will have to get out my surfing board and check them. The von Schlesien got a house, too, and are getting interested in helicopters."

"D'Aaw…" said Venus with a dreamy smile. "Those two are cute. We will probably arrange something to 'join the houses' once their kids…"

"Venus, give them the time to make them, first," cut in Hecate with a grin.

"Right… getting ahead of myself," replied the goddess of Love. "So I suppose we can let things run on their own for a while?"

"I had a chat with the Oread in charge of the 'Piton des Neiges'. She will keep an eye on them," replied Diana.

She looked at her fellow goddesses and took the cup of tea Venus offered her. Like she had told Minerva some years before, she had played that game for too long, been a goddess for too long. But who she wasn't was the original Diana and she still had to stay guarded, to make sure that her peers did not start doubting her identity. Here, thankfully, she could relax a little. Hecate and Venus were both part of their little cabal, a group of seven gods and goddesses with a plan to change the world…

* * *

 **Earth, roughly -10'000 BC**

Elizabeth Weir started as she took in the scenery. She had expected to arrive at the Antarctica gate, with the Ancient advance team having cleared a path from the gate to the open sky so the Puddle Jumpers the refugees from Atlantis took could deploy safely and assess if Earth was safe enough for them. This really wasn't what she was seeing. The Jumpers had landed in an idyllic pastoral landscape where the Stargate was sitting on the top of a hill.

Several Alterans including Moros, the chief of the Council, were looking at the Stargate and she could guess why. It wasn't the standard model, neither the one from the Milky Way the SGC was used to nor the model they had seen in the Pegasus galaxy.

She focused her attention on the rest of the scenery, deciding to wait for the Alterans to report their findings. The weather was warm, maybe Mediterranean and the flora seemed consistent for a temperate area. She could see a small herd of horses grazing in the plain below…

"Is it me or do those horses have wings?" asked Faith.

"You are right," replied Janus who had taken out the Alteran equivalent of binoculars.

"They do indeed," said a voice in strangely accented Alteran.

"The dove on the branch," said Faith, nudging her to look at a nearby tree.

"Ooh… you're a smart one!" replied the bird as it took flight.

As it neared the ground, the dove's shape started to change, morphing into a strawberry blonde woman in a white dress that seemed right out of… mythology.

 _Of course…_ she thought. _No need to look for them. They noticed their 'cousins' coming back and they're the ones coming to us. Now, we need to find a way to talk to them discreetly._

"I am Moros, chief of the Lantean Council," said the senior Alteran who had just come back from the gate. "Why did you divert our arrival?"

Elizabeth saw Faith barely repress a snigger and mutter something like 'sucker' as the man started to look very uncomfortable. The woman had just made what was probably the ultimate sad puppy eyes at Moros, sending him into an immediate guilt trip.

"I just wanted to be nice! Better to have you here rather than let you freeze in that horrible place!" she said, sniffing.

"Lady Venus, I presume," said Elizabeth, moving forward. "I am honored to meet you."

"Ah! Finally someone polite," replied the goddess, her sadness evaporating instantly. "Hmm… you are not an Alteran, but one of Prometheus'… interesting."

 _I can feel that you are eager to see us, that you seek us,_ said Venus' voice directly in her mind. _I have some things to clear with the Alterans first and then we will talk._

 _Are you not an Alteran yourself?_ thought back Elizabeth.

 _No, which is the reason I am the one to greet you here. Those of us who were Alterans… there are old wounds that never healed._

"As the nice Ferreas lady already guessed," said Venus, pointing Elizabeth, "I represent Olympus, a nation founded by the Alteran Saturn."

 _Ferreas…_ thought Elizabeth. _That's almost like the Alteran word for iron._

"I am afraid that I am coming with a warning. While the Nefastus do not control this world anymore, the Alteran people has, once again, split. You are Lanteans, the last scions of those who left. We are Olympians. We are those who stayed and fought. While I am a loving person, there are many among us that feel bitter at what your ancestors did. To appease them, Jupiter has decreed that those of you who want to join us can, but that they will have to become Olympians, to adopt our culture."

"And if we don't?" asked Ganos Lal, another of the Council members.

"While we Olympians are only concerned with Terra, we know what happens in the rest of the galaxy and there are many opportunities out there. The old Astria Porta network is mostly intact, so no problem to move. Should you decide to leave, the people of this planet may be a good start," replied the goddess, a holographic gate address appearing above her hand.

Elizabeth recognized the address from the SGC files. It was the one of the Nox homeworld and she had the feeling that Venus was steering the Lanteans in the direction that would lead to the founding of the Alliance of the Four Great Races.

"We need some time to take a decision," said Moros.

"Of course. You are safe in this place. When you have reached a decision, just say my name three times and I will hear it."

The goddess turned into a flock of doves that disappeared as they scattered. Elizabeth heard a Lantean use the word 'arcanum' as if he spat it. In Alteran – or rather in the Lantean dialect of Alteran – this word had connotations beyond the idea of secret or mysterious knowledge. It implied the knowledge was forbidden, corruptive.

"What is known of the Olympians in your time?" Moros asked her.

"There are many stories but which ones are true, I cannot say. Two human civilizations worshipped them as gods but that's not the case anymore."

"Were they all dead then?" asked Ganos Lal.

"Yes, but it was a recent thing. The creatures you call Nefastus are coming from other universes and they were preventing them from invading ours."

She started to make a quick summary of the Roman mythology, detailing what she remembered of Venus and the other Olympians. This led the Lanteans back to their internal discussions. This time a word she did not recognize, 'Ori', was often used and she could tell that things were becoming heated.

"I hoped they wouldn't use that word," said Venus with a sigh. "We're not like them."

Elizabeth started and then… she noticed something. There should have been gazes aimed at the goddess and there were none save for hers.

 _I am the only one seeing and hearing you?_

"Yes… though Faith must be feeling part of my presence. I'm sorry for this but I realized it was better if I hid you both from my peers' eyes."

 _Why?_

"I realized that the most likely way for you both to exist includes time travel. I called a friend more expert than me on the matter but until she arrives and we clarify matters, it is better to limit the number of people meeting you."

 _Changing the future will not create paradoxes._

"Sure, but it may very well make our future worse than the past you remember, if we are not cautious."

 _Can you include Faith so that she sees and hears you?_

"Not yet. The Lanteans see you as harmless but Faith is for them a hybrid with unknown capabilities, so they are watching what she does a lot more. Anyway… I see that they are almost finished."

"What has happened to our people?" said Janus. "There was a time where we would have marveled at the opportunity of something new to learn."

"Yes, and this led our people on the brink of destruction, again and again," replied Ganos Lal. "This is what made the Olympians become like the Ori. You heard it: these humans they created are worshipping them."

"I wonder, Ganos, if this is not why the Council was in such a hurry to order the destruction of the Asurans when they were revealed to be sentient. Were we afraid that they would look up to us, their creators, that we would be tempted by their reverence for us?"

"You cannot…"

"Yes, I dare. Look at our history. The Argyreas were culled. All research on artificial intelligence has been systematically limited. We destroyed the Asurans. We are afraid that any sentient creation of ours would start to worship us. The fear of the Ori still governs us."

There were murmurs among the Lanteans but Elizabeth could see all too well how things were about to turn. Fear and weariness were plain on the faces of almost all of them. They had just lost their war against the Wraith and what they wanted was safety. Had this conversation happened after a few years of peace, it may have had a far different outcome but now… now, Janus was alone.

 _He is one of the most intelligent men I ever met and he had to know what his people's reaction would be…_

"Is that your decision, Janus?" asked Moros.

"Yes. I will stay here. I refuse to flee again, so I will stay with those who fight."

She caught Janus' gaze. It only lasted an instant but she knew. It was painfully evident now. The conversation was actually reaching the point he had aimed for from the start. Janus was burning his bridges voluntarily, because he promised to help them, because he felt that preventing the future she told him about was more important.

"So be it. Ganos, can we open the Astria Porta?"

"Yes. The controls still use the standard nomenclature. Do we go to the coordinates the Olympian…"

"No. Set the sequence for Vis Uban."

The refugees soon went back to the jumpers while the gate was activated. Elizabeth was feeling the respect she had for the Ancients diminish. The more she learnt, the more she saw them as a people at the end of their rope. She hoped that wasn't the case with the Olympians.

"Janus," said Faith as she watched the shuttles go through the gate. "You didn't have to…"

"No, I had to… even if I had never voiced it, I thought everything I said."

"What were the Asurans?" asked Elizabeth.

"We created nanomachine colonies as a weapon against the Wraith but… they became sentient and they started asking questions. Rather than rejoicing in this miracle… the Council only saw a failed experiment and they were destroyed as well as most of the project's data. Our ancestors did the same with the Argyreas… they were a genetically engineered species, designed to be warriors."

"That's nice and all but I would enjoy taking a bath. You mind if I call her back?" asked Faith.

"No need, I am already here," said Venus, revealing her presence. "Sorry for the deception but I needed to make sure the other Olympians would not see you two before we could discuss some… timely matters."

"Five by five," replied Faith. "That's exactly why we are here."

"Oh… it's that bad?" asked back the goddess with an adorable pout.

"So it seems your hunch was correct, Venus," said another voice as a blue-skinned woman shimmered into existence.

Faith felt her Slaydar going into overdrive. It was already active thanks to Venus but the Slayer had pegged her desire to call the goddess mommy to some kind of love-me aura. The blue woman now… pure demon to a degree she had not felt since… she knew. She had already felt an aura very similar to this one.

"How come your friend is an Old One?" she asked, turning toward Venus. "Don't try to trick me, she feels just like Illyria."

"So you met my… well, mother is probably the Alteran concept that would be the nearest. I am Hecate. As for your initial statement, young demigoddess, I was, rather than am one of those you call the Old Ones."

Gears clicked in Elizabeth's mind. This sounded awfully like what happened with the Goa'uld and the Tok'ra: a revolutionary faction splintering from the main culture and turning against it. The Tok'ra also insisted a lot on the fact they were not Goa'uld anymore.

"I never said that all Olympians were of Alteran descent," said Venus. "To make short a very long story, Saturn didn't defeat the Nefastus alone. He found allies."

"Are you an Old One too?" asked Elizabeth to Venus.

"No… you see, my sympathy for the Lanteans diminished a lot when I heard about the Asurans… no offence to you, Janus, you seem like a nice guy."

"None taken. Why, though?"

"I am the unexpected result of an experiment gone wrong too. Initially I was… the Idea of Love is maybe the simplest way to put it. Saturn's experiment made me sentient and gave me the desire to experience the world, to feel love rather than just incarnate it. So I created myself a body and joined the Olympians."

"You…" began the Lantean before he started to laugh manically.

"Janus, are you all right?" asked Venus, visibly concerned.

"It's easy to understand, dear," replied Hecate. "Remember that the Lanteans' research on Ascension points towards a solution that would have them forsake flesh to reach 'a higher plane of existence'. That an Ideal, a being… born Ascended, was eager to Descend, to 'trap' herself inside a physical body… you're just the counter-example demolishing their theory. So! Venus transmitted me the fun stories about us you told the Lanteans. They are probably what we will tell the Ferreas – or humans to use your word – once they have done a few things like discover how to work metal."

"You are not… uplifting them?" asked Elizabeth.

"Now, this is a big debate among us. The reasons are complex and they do not make for unanimity but the result is that we only do the minimum, like making sure some asteroids do not impact the planet. But, from what you told, I can see that Jupiter's policies will ultimately lead us to our doom. Who were the demons that destroyed us?"

"You mean Wolfram and…" said Faith, who had been busy helping Janus to get over his small episode.

"The Wolf, the Ram and the Hart… predictable," cut in Hecate. "The little peddlers have made their way in the world... What do you think about it… Minerva?"

Hecate's staff struck the ground and all assembled could feel a shockwave of icy blue light go through them, sending an owl and a hawk sprawling on the ground. With a wave of her hand, the Goddess of Witchcraft gave the two beings their original shape back, two women, one in a kind of centurion armor and the other dressed in a short dress and armed with a bow and silver arrows.

"Looks like I wasn't fast enough in shielding the event," said Venus with a sigh.

"Father doesn't know about it," said Minerva as she got up. "I saw some inconsistencies in what we could scry from Olympus and came to check."

"And you, Diana?" asked Hecate.

"I was here from the beginning. Had the Lanteans settled on Earth, they would have…"

"I see, you are really not eager to see cities taking the place of forests," replied the dark goddess.

"No and I never will."

"Can I count on you two to say nothing until we reach a decision?" asked Venus.

"Only if you Elder Titans deign to listen to our advice," replied Minerva.

"Fair enough," said Hecate. "Faith, Elizabeth and Janus. I am asking you for permission to scan your memories and share it with Venus, Minerva and Diana. We only have a little time before more of us come to see what is happening and I have the feeling that it would be far better if we finish before that."

Elizabeth started to think very quickly. Getting the Olympians' help was the very reason they were here but, on the other hand, information was the only thing of worth they had…

 _Irrelevant. They can take it by force and we wouldn't be able to do anything to resist except maybe killing ourselves. At least they're asking nicely._

"Please do it," she replied, having reached a decision.

"Right… go with the mind mojo but try not to break anything. I like myself like I am," said Faith.

"Agreed," said Janus.

They suddenly felt like an icy stab through their brain. It only lasted an instant and Faith likened it to what happened with medical needles. After that, just a pressure, like if she was concentrating hard on a math assignment. There was a part of herself that knew she should have said no but… she had seen too much lately. Dawnie, slaughtered on an altar. Willow, eaten alive by an Old One who devoured her magic at the same time. Xander, mercy killed by O'Neill as a vampire was turning him. Buffy… staying behind to buy them time. Countless others, civilian or military, all dead. If letting Hecate in her brain could help prevent that, she would put her pride aside.

She started to feel not only Hecate but the other three's presence in her head. Strangely, the Slayer was… tame. In that place of her mind that looked like a savannah, the primal Slayer was actually cuddling with Venus, who was telling her it was all right, that mommy was here now. The image was… disturbing.

She shifted her attention away and found Minerva's very structured mind checking facts, examining the events of her Slayer career. Faith remembered what Daniel had told her about the Ascended Ones. The Olympians were different. Sure, it was expected from Venus and Hecate who had different origins but from what she was getting Minerva and Diana were kind of Ascended Alterans, right?

"Wrong _,_ "replied a voice in her mind that she recognized to be Diana. "Get that in your little doll brain: I am not some kind of spirit faking materiality. I am a physical being and a part of this planet's natural cycle… and from what I see your species really screwed up."

"Didn't you create us?"

"It was before my time and I never agreed with that. You're an invasive species that will wreck the ecosystem. If I had it my way, we would wipe you out and leave Terra do without you."

"Hey! We did good things too!"

"Before you assault me with memories of things you think are good, know that man-made…"

"Bullshit. If you're that wired against civilization, why do you wear clothes? Why do you even bother to speak? You should go all feral girl."

"You… impudent… I will hunt you until the end…"

"Hunt? I'm a Slayer. Hunting is what I do. Demons are my prey. So come and try and we'll see who the hunter is and who's the hunted."

"Peace you two," said Venus' mental voice. "Diana, do you know enough to take a decision?"

"Unfortunately, yes… though at least it means I can leave that cesspool."

Reality shifted back as the mortals felt the goddesses' presence retreat.

"Janus, thank you for giving us insight on the history of the Lanteans. Our own intelligence on the matter was sketchy," said Minerva.

"Elizabeth, Faith," said Hecate with a little smile. "What you revealed us has to be prevented but doing so will require us to be very clever."

"Why? Can't you just tell Jupiter about it?" asked Elizabeth.

"I have to tell you a few things regarding the way Jupiter really gained his throne so that you understand the situation," replied the dark goddess. "You will see that it differs from the myths you know. So, once upon a time lived a prince full of ambition. He was chafing under the rule of his father and, the king being immortal, he knew that waiting would not bring him the changes he desired. So, he conceived a plan.

"He knew that the kingdom was a fragile alliance of beings light and dark. He started to sow dissension so that all distrusted the King, believing him to have fallen under the influence of the Kingdom's Ancient Enemy. Those of darkness, to protect themselves and the Kingdom's peace, soon retreated in chthonian domains. Leading them was the prince's half-brother, who was both light and dark, irredeemably tainted for those who praised the Prince as the one that would restore the Kingdom's greatness.

"It is at this moment that the Prince struck. The King and the loyal Lords and Ladies were slain, to be sealed for all eternity in Tartarus. In the Celestial Court only remained the Prince's partisans and those who, seeing how the wind blew, feigned allegiance. The Prince's half-brother saved what he could. The Black Court would be an ally of the White Court against the Ancient Enemy but it would never be a vassal. This rivalry, while not major in the myths of those Romans who will worship us, is probably what will give birth to the legend of the Faerie Courts of Seelie and Unseelie I have seen in your memory, Faith."

"So what you are saying is that Jupiter is just a dictator who made a coup to serve his own interests?" asked Elizabeth.

"To be frank," replied Minerva, "yes. I was born long after that but I observed him enough to know that if the good of the people was ever his objective, it was the good of one people: himself. I must however add two things to Hecate's story that will lead us to our current problem. First, Jupiter didn't manage his coup without demonic help."

"What?" asked Diana, obviously outraged at the revelation.

"It took me three thousand years to gather the pieces, sister, and… Hecate?"

"Pluto and I did the same, but we agreed not to reveal it, at least not until we had a solid plan to deal with the consequences."

"All too true. In exchange for his help, Jupiter swore on the Styx to ignore a few apparently unimportant things. Was he stupid, blinded by his ambition or anything else when he agreed to it, I cannot say. What I know, though, is that what the both of you showed me of Wolfram and Hart's plan takes too much advantage of these blind spots for it to be a coincidence."

"Even if Jupiter's hands are tied, why didn't you do anything?" asked Janus.

"This leads me directly to the second point: the oath of allegiance I swore on the Styx and the treaty between Seelie and Unseelie. Thanks to them, Jupiter is in a position to veto any significant action. Note that this oath specifically names my father and not the Crown, so I cannot use the 'national security' loophole."

"Why… Saturn's curse?"

"Saturn's curse. Those oaths are his way to neutralize the prophecy saying that one of his sons will be responsible for his death. The only son who didn't swear is Mars, but father exiled him and if he tried something… well I bet that Daddy dearest will gladly use me as his shield. The rest of the major gods are also concerned."

"Well not me," said Venus. "I belong to neither court. My advantage is that Jupiter sees me as a shallow, flighty bimbo incapable to think further than her next lay."

Elizabeth started to think about this, looking for loopholes, wondering if some of the allies the SGC had could help. The Asgard were probably already… she smiled. The Asgard. How Loki killed Balder in the myth. The specific wording Minerva had used. Her gaze met the one of the goddess of wisdom. Minerva's smile mirrored her.

"Now, I have a solution. The oath of allegiance being on the Styx, Father thinks it cannot be violated. This is inexact. Father is prisoner of his own ego. Because he prefers to see the universe burn rather than face the consequences of his actions, it doesn't mean that others will be as selfish as him."

"Minerva, you aren't…" started Diana.

"For our world to have a future, I am ready to break my oath and, as a consequence, to see my immortality and my life end. This is my proposal to you: I will transfer my power and my knowledge to either Faith or Elizabeth. She will then be able to impersonate me. As Styx never forgets, Father will not even think about asking her to renew the oath as long as she plays my role convincingly. She will then be in a position to change the future."

"That's for you, Doc," said Faith. "No way I could…"

"Not Minerva, that's sure. Me on the other hand, that you could do easily," cut in Diana. "Before you ask, yes I still think humanity is bad. But the Nefastus reigning once again is a lot worse and if I have to sacrifice my life to save the planet, so be it."

"Holy shit…" replied Faith, now realizing the enormity of what Diana had just said.

She was mustering every bit of discipline she could, doing her best not to freak out. Her, one of the Powers That Be?

 _Calm, breathe. Think about what B would do. She would do what's right to save the world and now it means becoming a fuckin' goddess._

"And Janus?" she asked.

"We have a more normal deification process for him," said Venus. "I will have Jupiter hear a slightly edited version of his tirade, just to make sure he thinks he's a troublemaker."

"Which means he will not object when he swears allegiance to Pluto, as one of the gods of Chaos," added Hecate. "I will arrange things with him."

"And I will get Mars on board," said Venus.

"Why?" asked Elizabeth.

"He and I have regular… quarrels. He is therefore the most likely to notice something is wrong as your fighting style and mine will not be identical," replied Minerva.

"Do we all agree?" asked Hecate.

All the persons assembled nodded. Hecate then snapped her fingers, instantly drawing two pairs of ritual circles.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author notes: Thanks to all the people who took time to review this story or mark it as a favorite. Here we go for the last 'pre-calling' chapter._

 _Special thanks to Narsil for betaing this chapter._

 _Disclaimer: see chapter 1_

 _ **Rating:**_ _FR18_

* * *

 **Paris, 1961**

Minerva was sitting on a restaurant terrace of the Quartier Latin, clad in the guise of a young human woman. She blended perfectly with the many students enjoying the weather like her and she had held a few amusing – in her opinion – conversations about political science while having lunch, going back to her book when classes resumed at the nearby university.

"Gibbon?" said a voice she knew very well from over her shoulder. "Do you want me to remind you how it really happened, Minerva?" added the voice in a dialect of Ancient Egyptian only a handful of people on this planet knew how to speak.

"No need, old friend," replied the goddess, closing her book. "Just some light reading to kill time while I wait, Nabu."

"Of course," replied the Count of Saint-Germain, sitting on the chair in front of her. "Though I suppose that the fall of Rome is something to ponder today."

"Why did you agree to help me?"

"I could say that I am settling old debts but that wouldn't be true. While some wanted to make it sound glamorous, we both know the truth. We both know about the dishonored maidens who committed suicide rather than bear his child after he forced them, the ones that no poet speaks about. I am not saying I am pure, far from it. I took too many hosts by force for that before I arrived on Earth. But I repented, I and the others found another way. Helping you in this matter, even if it just by forging for you what Vulcan wouldn't dare to… it is also helping my conscience. The same go for the others. Helping you to get rid of him will help make us feel better about the monsters we were."

They stopped to talk as the waiter came to get the Count's order. She remembered the Goa'uld invasion, starting with Ra's arrival on Earth. Thankfully, she never had to take the decision to just do nothing and let history happen. The way events unfolded ensured she would be forced to do just that.

They had kept an eye on what the Lanteans did after they left Earth and everything just confirmed the bad opinion the Olympians had. They soon met the Nox, the Asgard and the Furlings and the Alliance of the Four Great Races was created. What had surprised her was that the Ancients were not the ones driving it. The Furlings were the ones that had the idea and that did their best to make it work. The Ancients were rather dragged into it and soon lost interest.

The truth was that all that mattered to them at this point was Ascension. It had become an obsession to them. Once they all retired to another plane, the Olympians just shrugged. The Lanteans had made their choice and what happened to them wasn't their concern anymore. What they realized when the Goa'uld arrived was that the Lanteans had neither forgotten them nor stopped thinking of them as Ori.

"You are thinking about the bad old times," said the Count.

"Am I that easy to read?"

"How many times did we already discuss this topic?"

"I stopped counting but…"

The Count smiled. He remembered having been smitten with her since their first meeting all of those years ago. He still was and he hoped that, soon, she would release some of the restraint she imposed on herself and… he would have so many things to show to his goddess then!

 _But now, what she needs is different…_

"Well, I bet that the Asgard would be rather annoyed if they knew that the Ascended Ancients not only arranged for Ra to find Earth but also destabilized the local hyperspace for centuries, preventing them from pursuing him. Couldn't you arrange that?"

"I could… but would it matter, I wonder."

The truth was that Earth becoming unreachable by FTL except via the Stargate was just a side-effect. The real goal of the hyperspace pulse had been to severely damage the dimensional network keeping the various domains of the Black and White Courts linked to Earth. Most of them had been forced to sit by while Ra settled on the planet and started to take humans away. The few Olympians that were on Earth at the time… they were usually too occupied thwarting the demons to do anything against the Goa'uld.

"The only silver lining that I find to this whole mess is that the Lanteans were so shocked at how their plan backfired that they decided never to intervene again," she added.

"Hmm… true. Humans and the Jaffa offshoot the System Lords engineered allowed my species to outgrow some of its limitations, the main point being our numbers increased enough to offset the Asgard's technological advantage and reach a stalemate."

"That and the fact your species is also worshipped by its human slaves and Jaffa. Less problematic than us as the System Lords are just relying on – from the point of view of the Lanteans – sub-par technology."

"Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I accepted Egeria's offer and left Earth to teach her little band of rebels what I knew."

As the Goa'uld occupation of Earth stretched on, divisions had started to appear among them. Of course, there were some political intrigues but they didn't really count. Those were an intrinsic part of the feudal society of the System Lords and even if a coup like the one Setesh organized had managed to dethrone Ra, it would have changed nothing for the humans. No, the divisions that appeared were philosophical and therefore a lot more worrying for the System Lords as they threatened Goa'uld culture.

 _And they only make sense if you understand Goa'uld biology…_

Over the millennia, she had discussed the matter several times with the Count, learning how the Goa'uld evolved in the swamps of the planet they shared with the sentient reptilian humanoids known as the Unas. How, while incapable of surviving by themselves outside of those swamps, they had discovered they could burrow inside a Unas body and take control of it. How Goa'uld reproduction was working on a model that could be roughly compared to the queens and drones of some insects from Earth and how the control of Queens had always been a part of the dominance games between the Goa'uld warlords.

As for Egeria… she had been Ra's favorite Queen until her rebellion. She and her followers, the Tok'ra, decided that enslaving hosts was immoral. They developed a way of life where the Goa'uld and the host worked together. This movement quickly added a political agenda desiring to overthrow the rule of the System Lords and change Goa'uld culture as a whole. In the twentieth century, while they didn't make any real progress, they were still alive as a clandestine network.

 _But Egeria wasn't the only one. Others came with new ideas, because they met supernatural beings,_ she thought, looking at the Count.

"We also both know why the Goa'uld really left in the end, Nabu. It wasn't because of a human uprising but because Ra realized the demons existed and were gaining converts among the minor System Lords. Had you started to teach alchemy – or any other kind of magic – to the Tok'ra… I wonder if the movement would have survived."

"This is surely a point to consider… then it is a good thing that Lamashtu and Egeria couldn't stand each other and that we decided to stick with the former."

Minerva smiled as she hailed the waiter to order some champagne. They would soon have something to celebrate after all.

"Some of Lamashtu's children left with Ra. I wonder if they are aware of some… consequences," continued the Count.

"Probably not. The information I have is that Ra censured anything related to magic very forcefully. He even banned writing from the lower classes… yet this doesn't matter. The pact Lamashtu made with the Black Court is not something you can censure. By the way…"

"As you know, my research aims for a similar goal, but using homunculus technology. I have good hope to work out the last few issues in the next decades."

She nodded. The philosophy of Lamashtu's followers was summarized by the motto: "We Stand Alone." They wanted more than hosts. They wanted bodies that would allow them to be 'complete creatures', creatures able to transmit their trans-Goa'uld genes to their descendants.

"That's goo…"

She was interrupted by the ringing coming from her watch. Smiling, she took the bottle of champagne and poured two glasses.

"Is it done?"

"It is done. To the future, Nabu," she replied, raising her glass.

* * *

 **Pearl Harbor, 1961**

Sarah Carrington dropped the gun. She… hadn't wanted that. She had just wanted to frighten him away before he could… do those things he said to her. She rushed to kneel alongside the body, hoping she could still do something that would mean she had not killed a man, but suddenly felt an arm yanking her away from the fallen man and turning her the other way.

A tall brunette woman was standing there. Just like in the man's case, Sarah had no idea how she had managed to enter the house and she too looked like she might be of Italian descent. Then there was the problem of her clothes. The man was dressed sensibly in a suit that she guessed to be severely overpriced. The woman was a different story. Her white and purple dress looked like an extremely well done costume for a Roman noble lady. The woman suddenly hugged her and Sarah could feel that she was crying.

"Thank you… thank you so much!" said the woman. "Free… free at last!"

Sarah knew she should be panicking but shock and wonder had managed to put her in a zone where she felt strangely calm. She remembered what her father had told her once about the importance of keeping a cool head and how it had helped him to prevent things from escalating while he did his duty as a sheriff in their little Arizona town.

She hugged the woman back. She didn't know the specifics of the situation but she could guess some things from what her second uninvited guest of the night had said and what the man had said he would do to her. Right now, offering what little comfort she could was the humane thing to do.

"Sorry," said the woman as she broke the hug. "I'm Juno. This… piece of trash was my husband."

Sarah looked at the corpse. Thankfully it wasn't the first time she saw a dead body – even if the first time had been in a car accident – and her father had always insisted that she knew how to defend herself, particularly now that she was living in a big city.

She thought back to the first time she met that man two days ago. She had just dropped off her daughter at the elementary school and was enjoying a little walk on the beach. As so often in the past, she was looking at the sea, wondering where her husband was. He was a Navy officer and she was used to him being away so often but still… and it was then that the man who was now a corpse came.

He had been charming and had her resolve been a little weaker, she may have surrendered. Thankfully, the thought of her daughter Marlene had banished any temptation. It had not discouraged the man and he had come back several times over the last two days… until tonight, he broke in her house, obviously decided to take by force what she refused him. Thankfully – or not she didn't know – the situation had made her nervous enough to keep the gun her father had gifted her at hand.

"Golden blood?" she asked, dumbfounded, as she watched the bloodstains on the man's jacket. "Oh my God! He's an alien!"

"Not quite, he and I were born on Earth just like you. But you are right on one point: he is not human… what name did he give you when he tried to seduce you?"

"He said he was a Greek businessman and that his name was Zeus… Zeus, Juno... are you kidding me?"

"I am afraid not, Mrs. Carrington. This is Jupiter, late god of the Heavens," replied the Olympian, savoring the words.

"Mom?" asked a sleepy voice coming from the stairs.

Sarah felt panic coming back. The noise, even gunfire she could still make up something about but not the corpse. Stumbling a little as she ran, losing one of her slippers, she reached the stairs to see Marlene. Except she wasn't moving. She was like frozen in mid-step. Turning back, a detail immediately caught her eye. Juno was the only thing that seemed to move normally in the living room. Even the slipper she had lost was stuck two inches above the ground.

"What did you do?" she asked, seeing that Juno was manipulating something looking like controls on her right bracer.

"I displaced the two of us into a slightly out of phase space where time flows faster than in the main universe."

Sarah barely bit back a snappy retort as she realized that what happened just gave a lot more credence to the 'mythological' claim of the woman.

"I don't want to sound impolite or anything but can you try to say that again while keeping in mind that I am not Professor Zarkov?" she instead asked.

"Zar… yes, those comic books I caught Vulcan reading. Despite how it may look, I didn't stop time. I sort of accelerated us so that one hour for us means less than a second for the world. This gives us the time to chat a little bit and to clean up before your daughter comes down the stairs."

This time, Sarah felt like giggling, because of Juno's disapproving tone when she said 'caught'. The idea of Vulcan as a teenage boy living in his parents' basement and caught by his mother while reading 'naughty' books was just too hilarious. She took a deep breath, remembering that her father repeatedly told her that to solve a problem, you have to understand it first.

"So, you're really the gods from Olympus?"

"It didn't feel much like it lately," replied Juno with a sigh, "but yes. You have my word on the matter."

"But then… how did I kill him?" she asked, pointing the corpse. "Isn't he supposed to be immortal?"

"Now that's a good question… do you know the story of how Jupiter defeated his father?"

"No, sorry. I only remember a little from what I read in school."

"In short, Saturn prophesized that just as Jupiter killed him, one of Jupiter's sons would be responsible for his death. My late husband used to think that the curse was in fact a blessing, that if he made sure none of his sons were in a position to threaten him, he would be invincible. What he forgot is that this created an Achilles' heel in his immortality."

"In case you…"

"Oh! I know very well that you are not of his blood, not that the scumbag would be above bedding one of his daughters. No, I think someone has been very clever… the devil lies in the details, you see."

Juno crouched and retrieved Sarah's gun. Manipulating it expertly, she removed the ammo clip and ejected the cartridge currently in the chamber.

"Someone gave you the right weapon," continued the Olympian, handing her one of the unspent bullets.

Sarah remembered the man's laugh as she menaced him with her weapon. He was laughing as he dared her to shoot. She also remembered how his laugh had been replaced by utter disbelief as the bullets tore through him.

 _What makes those bullets special? That's not metal. What is that whitish material? She said that one of his sons would be responsible for his death, not that he would kill him… I think I understand._

"This is made of bone, right?" she asked, holding the cartridge in front of her. "It's a bullet made from the bones of one of his sons."

"Yes, from Hercules, I think… don't feel bad about him. I know that I am not… the most unbiased person on the matter but believe me when I tell you he was a bully who thought he could solve every problem using brute force."

Sarah frowned and finally nodded. She remembered how much her father hated Hollywood Westerns because of how they portrayed Native Americans compared to the reality he knew from his work with the nearby reservation. It therefore wasn't that surprising that the old stories were wrong too.

"You see," continued the goddess, "the beauty of the situation is that using the weapon or not was entirely up to you, which means the Furies will end up with the case of a woman defending her virtue and her aggressor being shot like a rabid dog…"

Juno started to laugh.

"Hem… just another question: how come you were here so soon?"

"I was… it is better to put things in context so that you understand the situation and do not take me for some kind of trollop. Did he tell you that you would come to enjoy it?"

"Yes… you mean he can force even that?" she asked with disgust.

"Yes. Breaking and remolding people into his own personal toys is one of his favorite pastimes… poor Ganymede. Like always with him, it's a matter of control. That's why he had a system that forced me to watch every time he did it. This is how I knew."

"And the stories saying you are insanely jealous?"

"Me… jealous of him? Eternity! A very long time ago, when I was… more naïve, I sometimes punished women who I felt were betraying their marriage vows by welcoming him… I soon understood that I was playing his game by doing that. I understood that these women were victims as much as I was. But enough of that, he is dead and I will very much enjoy being a widow. So… I offer you a choice of two boons. First, I can make you forget the whole event. As far as you and your family are concerned, nothing will have happened. Second, you choose to remember and I give my blessing to your family. There will just be some broken vase to explain the noise."

"The neighbors will have heard gunfire."

"They didn't," replied Juno after checking something on her bracer. "Whoever planned this… let's just say there are complicated science-y thingies filtering the noises to speak like one of my stepdaughters."

"You know who did this… who used me to kill him?"

"I think so and… if you choose to remember don't be too hard on her."

"Was she one of his victims too?"

"Not in the same way as I, but yes. Believe me when I say there will be few tears for him in Olympus."

She thought about it. Forgetting would be easy. Maybe the safest for her sanity. But… she looked at Juno, trying to remember her mythology. Juno, goddess of marriage but there was also something about wealth, probably related to the way women managed the household in traditional society. While they weren't poor, her own household budget did not have much maneuvering room.

"I'll remember," she said.

"I can feel you are thinking about your family's well-being before yours," said Juno with an approving nod.

"I have one question, though, as you are bringing up the matter. Will other… members of your family try to get revenge on mine?"

"No. This is one of the reasons I am asking you not to think too harshly of my stepdaughter. You see, the way she used you is actually not a matter of disregard for you. It's just that she knows how we are thinking and she actually protected you by doing that."

"Oh my… you don't punish the gun for shooting, right?" she asked back, not knowing what to think of the level of cynicism this implied.

"Right. Unfortunately, this is also why I have to keep my boon relatively minor… though I will ask my son to keep an eye on your husband."

"Your son, you mean Ares…"

Sarah stopped as she saw Juno's wince. She knew that face and she felt herself warming to the woman. For an instant, she hadn't been an alien, superior being but just a mother who obviously hated the bad reputation her son had.

"Those stories are wrong too?" she asked.

"The Greeks never understood him and… the Trojan War didn't help," replied Juno with a sigh. "You should see him in his garden, he's so at peace then… if you want to know more, read about how the Romans considered him. That's a lot nearer from the truth… I grant my blessing on your household, Sarah Carrington."

Olympus, 1961

Juno thought that she had been right. In fact, the situation reminded her of what happened in France after the death of Louis XIV. It was as if the whole White Court was shrugging off a huge weight and, in the city's taverns, many were celebrating.

The matter of the succession had been a lot easier than initially expected. Some who mused over the matter had predicted a massive feud that could very well devolve in a civil war between the main contenders' partisans. Some, the kind who were seeing spies of the Black Court behind every corner, expected Pluto to mount a coup but a diplomatic note sent by the Black Sovereign reassured most people. The Black Court would not interfere and just hoped the White Court would find a solution without further violence.

Of course, this just had the opposite effect. Knowing that there would be no chthonian boots on heavenly ground, some felt emboldened. Thankfully, it only lasted for ten minutes, just long enough for Mars to hack the civil broadcasting system with Vulcan's help and declare they were supporting Minerva. Almost all the contenders just folded at that point, knowing who the army would wholeheartedly support after that.

In fact, that shift left only two credible candidates other than Minerva: Neptune and Juno. The queen goddess, knowing exactly who had masterminded Jupiter's execution, quickly declared she had no interest in the throne, which left the two old enemies and people wondering if they would need a new Trojan War to settle that different.

 _Except that Minerva had calculated that move too, by giving Neptune what he wanted._

The situation of the Oceans' King was a little different from what the poets who wrote the mythology thought. The oceanic domain had for millennia been a kind of frontier area between the two Courts, with Neptune's people being considered a band of barbarian nomads of little importance by many, Jupiter included. Minerva's first queenly act had been to recognize the independence of the Sea Court and to open negotiations with Neptune and the Black Court to rewrite the alliance treaties and create a Confederacy.

Juno stretched, looking at the city below the palace's balcony, basking in the songs and… yes, those were Bacchus' voice and Apollo's lyre. If she had any hate left for her many stepchildren, the joy she could hear in Bacchus' song was extinguishing it quite surely.

"It was a beautiful coronation," she said as she felt Minerva's aura coming nearby.

"Vesta wanted to make sure everything was done by the book… and leave me no chance to put in place the same kind of loopholes he did."

"A new age for Olympus… and for me too. I want to reinvent myself. I have asked Concordia to fill in for me as the Goddess of Marriage, at least until someone of the new generation can take this over."

"Many of us have similar desires," replied Minerva, sitting near her stepmother on the balcony's rail. "We want a new face, more in phase with the world the humans created."

"True…"

"I have a proposition for you, one that will help you to do this. The demons are not relying on mere cults anymore. They are creating a law firm to better use human civilization against itself. Our problem is that the traditional organizations that cooperate with us are stuck in the past and I would have to be very heavy-handed to reform them."

"So you want to create something new. Of which kind?"

"A transnational company. Mercury is changing too. He's enjoying the spy games of the Cold War a lot and wants to ditch the commerce aspect of his portfolio. I will transfer it to you so that you are fully armed for that task."

"Hmm… I will have to reincarnate to pull that off correctly given the level of scrutiny rich people are under… something I am not unhappy about, I must say. I need a vacation and an innocent childhood as a human will be perfect."

"We still have time but the structure must be rolling by the middle of the 1980s."

"Not a problem. I know a family with sufficient assets and conveniently called Monet. Last time I checked they were content to just fund their lifestyle, but I can turn that into a powerhouse in a few years… you have no objection to me being a young finance genius?"

"No, after all you used to be a goddess of youth, no?"

"Yes… on another matter, you realize that while the topic is not discussed, everybody in the family knows you're behind his death?"

"Yes," replied Minerva with a shrug. "The plan bears my mark. The magic bullets, the fact Sarah's genome was specifically tailored to be irresistible to him, the care I put in her upbringing while posing as her Mexican nanny, just to make sure her reactions that night would be predetermined, and the many spells subtly woven to reinforce Father's libido and prevent him from smelling the proverbial rat… yes, I didn't expect that secret to hold for long. I also know that the real question they would like to ask is how I managed to bypass my oath of loyalty. That secret, however, will remain mine only."

"Fair enough I suppose… given that the oaths you asked of us are to Olympus and not you personally, which means that we will be able to dispose of you should the need arise."

"My dear stepmother," replied Minerva with a laugh. "I feel that we will all enjoy this change. After so many years of conspiracy to keep under his radar, brutal honesty is refreshing."

"Then… tell me your plan."

"Hmm… in short, the shadow war we have been playing is getting us nowhere and keeping things hidden is becoming harder every year. As all simulations show that we won't be able to prevent the reveal for more than a century, my plan is to force it at a time and in a way we control and use it to checkmate the demons. The company you will set up will help us with this. I already have the Muses working on inspiring some artists in specific ways and, in time…"

"I suppose that specific art will be a part of some complex ritual… maximum spread?"

"Yes. It must be an intrinsic part of culture at the time of D-Day."

"Understood and this means I will have to acquire media companies. The Black Court?"

"They are already on this. To give you an example, Pluto agreed to reincarnate some people like my dear Ulysses so that they are in place on D-Day."

"And when is that?"

"Halloween 1997. Then, we change the world."

* * *

 **La Réunion, 1963**

Jacques Berenger was feeling very tired. Over the last two decades, he had waged a secret war, doing his best to keep humanity a little safer from the things that lurked in the night. Still, despite all the darkness he had faced again and again, he had some reasons to hope. Sometimes, forgotten eons did not spawn unspeakable horrors but the souvenir of a golden age. This was why he had taken time to reply to Philippe's invitation.

 _So this is it… let's see what a bit of Alteran knowledge allied to our technology can do…_

In appearance, the building had nothing unusual. It had been built out of one of the factories used for sugar cane processing and it had not changed much on the outside. It had been different during the construction part, with the drilling equipment being used and the machines brought to be assembled inside. Some journalists, seeing the wellbore, had wondered what madman was hoping to find oil here. Some research led them to the eccentric Venturi family, an independently wealthy couple with three daughters.

From what Philippe had written in one of the letters they still exchanged, Ariana had been quite annoyed after an electrical problem sabotaged a study on orchids she was doing. So she looked into the problem, didn't like the numbers she saw about the island's dependency on coal and oil imports and decided to do something about it. This was how an abandoned factory had been bought and converted into something else. Jacques smiled as he recognized some faces, reputed scientists and engineers to whom Philippe and Ariana were explaining how the structure worked.

He had to refrain from laughing as he saw one of those esteemed Sorbonne professors being torn into pieces by Ariana's arguments. Of course, they didn't know. To them, Ariana was just a dilettante, a rich woman playing at being scientist. He wondered how they would react if they knew who she really was…

 _They wouldn't be able to accept it. Too many of their certitudes would be destroyed._

"Monsieur? You're Papa's friend, right?" asked a voice in French.

He had a smile. Decades of expecting knives in the dark meant that he had noticed the little girl once she started observing him but he had quickly recognized her from her file and relaxed a little bit.

"And you must be Joséphine," he replied in the same language. "Your Papa told me about you… why the pout?" he asked, wondering how many adults she could wrap around her little finger with that face.

"I don't like my first name very much… it's too long. I usually go by Josse."

"You know, it's a boy name… what would you think of Joyce?" he asked, thinking about the exemplary of _Ulysses_ he had been reading during the flight.

"It's English, right?"

"Yes. You will find it both as a first name and as a last name. As a first name, it's mostly used by girls."

"I like it… why don't you go with all the others? I bet Papa would appreciate seeing you."

"I will see him, but later, when there are fewer… people."

"You mean the journalists, right? Papa does not like being seen by them too."

He looked at her, remembering the reports. 'Joyce' and her sisters Andromeda and Livia were home schooled for a very simple reason: they had inherited their mother's intelligence. Human schools were far too slow for an Alteran mind.

"Something like that. Do you know how the factory works?"

"Hmm… power plant would be a better word I think. The idea is that the magma below is very hot, so why not use it to power a steam engine and make electricity? I know there is a lot of stuff to better performance, like the new materials Papa did so that the machines wear out slower."

"Yes, I remember that. I helped your Papa file patents on them."

From what Philippe had told him, he had been very lucky. Several key alchemists including the Count of Saint-Germain and himself held a conclave to discuss how alchemists would handle the entry of humanity into the nuclear age. Ariana had been a guest but from what he had heard she had been instrumental in swaying the old guard. The new rule could be summarized as 'limited release'. Some things, like the process allowing for the creation of the Philosopher's Stone, would remain secret. Others were finding their way into the larger world. In this particular case, Philippe had patented two processes, one for creating a high-performance polymer out of the sugar cane bagasse and the other a series of cheap, catalytic reactions to make silicon nitride out of basalt. Between those two, it meant that the island could replace most steel imports with locally produced materials and could even think about exports in some cases. The geothermal power plant inaugurated today was continuing in the same line: make the island more self-sufficient.

 _This is not a risk-free strategy and I do not see Saint-Germain releasing anything by himself… no, but I would easily see him giving advice to a young researcher, just a few innocent tips that would point him in the right direction._

"What's a patent?" asked Joyce.

"You know, sometimes you put a tag with your name on your clothes to know they're yours. A patent is like that, but for inventions. It's so that people know your Papa is the one who did it."

"So people have to ask if they want to use it, right?"

"Yes."

 _Let's not bring money into the discussion… even though these inventions are worth a fortune and is why the SNECMA and EDF have someone here._

Looking at the little girl, he wondered how much the Venturi family would influence this planet's future.

* * *

 **Czechoslovakia, 1985**

"I know, it sucks," said Diana as she unscrewed the silencer from her Ingram MAC 10.

She was in a monastery hidden in a remote region of the Carpathian Mountains and around her… well, most of the people were dead. Her words had been for one of the few who were still busy dying in agony, leaning against a wall.

"Really, I'm sorry I have to do that," she continued. "You're not bad guys. You did a good job safeguarding the Key but… we did a lot of simulations – tested possible prophecies if you prefer – and this was the least shitty outcome for everybody, you included. I know, you die in this scenario but you also do in the others. The difference is that in the other scenarios, you not only die but you also fail, because the one slaughtering you is her Skanky Hellness – the one you call the Beast – and she manages to brain suck enough of you to get an idea of where you hid the Key. So, we drew straws, I lost and… here I am."

She opened an ornate chest, revealing a pulsating sphere of green light. She held a small black disk above it and pushed a button. The disk deployed, forming a cylinder of the same orichalcum alloy as the Stargates around the sphere.

"Here, isolated enough for transport out of your wards without her detecting anything…"

She sighed as she saw the hate in the pain-filled eyes of the dying monks. She really felt like if she was the bad guy there. She knew that B wouldn't understand. She would prefer a risk to herself rather than harming innocents.

 _Would she really? What would have happened if she had been in my shoes, forced to witness all the bad parts of human history, to decide, again and again, that these were worth more than those…_

"Okay, you make me feel bad here, so I will give you a boon… you, there! I mean Charon's guys! Can you be nice and bring all the monks that didn't already pass away in this room?"

"You command death… who are you?" asked the monk as he saw men in black robes appear, holding the souls of the deceased monks.

"Me, commanding death? Nah, that's my uncle's domain. I'm merely asking for a little favor. My name's Diana and I bet you know your mythology well enough to understand what it means. So… in those centuries you had the Key, you studied it and I know that you developed some tricks based on what you learnt, like some reality-bending rituals. But believe me, you have no idea of what you are dealing with… don't be mad. I'm not saying you are incompetent. You did very well with the means you had but as none of you thought that things like astrophysics were relevant to your duty, you don't have the whole picture.

"Let's start with the name. The Key ended with that name because Dagon – who is a cool guy I sometimes go fishing with – gave it for safeguarding to the founder of your order. But he didn't create it and it is much older than him. We Olympians call it Atlas' Jewel but it's again belittling it a lot. No, funnily enough, it's a science fiction author who never heard about it who gave the Key its most fitting name: Yog-Sothoth.

"To quote him: 'Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth'. As far as I know, the Key is eternal because it's not really part of space-time as you or even I conceive it. What's inside this box is not even the real Key, but just its… shadow, a thing that is projected by Yog-Sothoth and that we can perceive. The rituals you made… well, you use the Key as a phone to call the big Y and ask it to do things. Believe me, it's not safe. It's not that it is evil or anything. The problem is that it has no fucking clue what good and evil are. This universe could implode and it would barely notice it.

"So, here is what I promise you: we'll make sure her Skanky Hellness will not find it. You know more or less about the plan, it's one you have in reserve. But we'll be less ham-fisted than you. Your method… let's just say I'm not happy with some of the side-effects of the memory implantation. So, no reality rewrite for us. The Key will be… you know, I'm realizing that I am making a fucking monologue like a comic book villain, explaining my master plan and all… Vulcan is going to laugh his ass off when he hears about it. So, that's all folks. I hope you're a little less mad at me."

She took the cylinder and made a gesture toward the psychopomps, who resumed their work. She had work to do too. Childbirth was not her favorite part of her own goddess' portfolio but in this case, it was going to be very useful.

 _Just a little while, Dawnie… this time you will really live your childhood._

She took a dull grey, fist-sized sphere and checked the program in it one last time. Satisfied, she threw it into the room and immediately teleported away, having no desire to be there when the timer on the sphere reached zero. Soon, the small item opened, releasing a greyish cloud that chirped like demented crickets. The cloud stopped for an instant, as if checking its surroundings, then started to seep into the ground, converting the stone into more grey mist. Its program was to erase any trace of the monastery, restore the natural state of the site according to its programmed data and then self-destruct. It was very diligent and when the sun rose six hours later, it was as if the monastery of the Order of Dagon had never existed.

* * *

 **New York, 1991**

"So this is where you're hiding," said the brunette, bearded man dressed in urban camouflage fatigues as he sat near her on that ledge near the top of the Empire State Building.

"Mars," replied Diana while she poured two shots of vodka and gave one to the god of war. "I suppose it was too much to hope you lot would let me brood in peace."

"Minerva thought about coming but I told her I would take care of it, because I understand why you do it."

"I killed a lot of people, big bro, but that thing with the monks was different," she replied, feeling the need to state what he had probably already guessed. "They were good guys and we made sure there is nobody to remember them. So, every year on this same day, I take a bottle of vodka and I drink."

"I thought as much. You know that if you had asked, I would have taken care of it."

She looked at her half-brother. He wasn't like the character she remembered from the Xena show but rather the quintessential Roman general. When he waged war, he did everything that had to be done to make sure that the other side's poor dumb bastards died for their country. To him, the monks were an operational security problem and eliminating them was logical.

"Because… because it would have been hiding. I have seen Janus' numbers. I knew that if we didn't do it, everything went down the toilet, in most scenarios because Glory would be in Sunnydale while B is busy with the Master."

"Now, this I can respect… out of curiosity, how much did change compared to the past you remember?"

"We still have a few years to go but I can already tell that a few things are not the same. First, the American Space Shuttle does not look like the one I remember. I suppose it's thanks to the new materials the alchemists made public knowledge. There also wasn't one that went ka-boom this time… not sure when it was. No permanent space station with a gravity ring in the old timeline either. Also the Soviets seem to have managed their perestroika a lot better than in the old timeline. After that… there is all the art stuff. No surprise here given that we have the Muses meddling on several levels. I know that it will have other consequences… for example I knew a guy called Andrew. I bet that the fact the new Star Trek show was cancelled after one season will mean something for him."

"I suppose he will be able to find some compensation with that 'Mass Effect' TV show mother is putting together…"

"Yeah… Juno is all about having strong female protagonists. Just look at that other sci-fi show she's launched, the one about the debris cleaners working in orbit…"

Mars smiled, remembering the subtle enhancements to overall technology that had been seeded by his mother's company, Omphalos Industries, under the cover of special effects.

"You mean _Planetes_."

"Yeah… you're watching it?"

"Venus is loving it and… I may have had a few nice evenings cuddling on the sofa while watching it with her. As can be expected, she's really fond of Ai Tanabe for her positive outlook on life. I would also say that this show serves a very important purpose. It is helping to shift the public's idea about space."

"Because the heroes are just ordinary people doing a rather shitty job?"

"Yes. This is not something new. It already happened in this very country, when colonists came rather than explorers… you told about one of the people you knew. Did you check on others?"

"Well, the Venturi but… even if she still married to Hank Summers and is similar personality-wise, that's where it stops. The Joyce I knew was an art gallery owner who stayed oblivious to the whole supernatural thing until her Slayer daughter rubbed her nose in it. The one we have now… ever heard about the Kindestod?"

"From the name, I suppose it is a demon preying on children."

"Yep. It could only be seen by feverish people and sucked out their life force, giving the illusion that the disease killed them. If I remember correctly what Dawnie told me, it was responsible for the death of her cousin Celia."

"What happened this time?"

"Same set up, Celia got sick and was in the hospital where the demon was hunting… except that Joyce being a Vril user, she felt its presence. The demon had exactly five seconds to contemplate its lack of any future before she incinerated it using Vril lightning. The Joyce we have now is a scientist who has been taught about the supernatural almost since she knew how to speak. No member of the family will be clueless when Buffy gets called as a Slayer."

"Even the husband?"

"Well… I heard him complain about being Darrin Stephens, particularly regarding his relationship with his in-laws… that's another show reference, a comedy about an immortal witch marrying a normal…"

Diana stopped talking as an alarm rung on the computer lodged in her left bracer.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! I knew that the other shoe was just waiting to drop!" she yelled while rising. "Mars, I have to go…"

"Need a hand?"

"Maybe… it's about… the other me."

He put his hand on her shoulder and they both teleported away.

* * *

 **Boston, 1991**

Claire Lehane knew that she had not always led a good life. Oh, she knew it could have been a lot worse and she sometimes wondered how it would have been if her little Faith's father had not been shot in a gang war before she was born. Maybe better, maybe worse, she had no idea. True, she was selling her body to put bread on the table but she wasn't an alcoholic or doing drugs. She was doing all she could to give her daughter an education, to give her a chance at having a better life than the one she had.

Right now, she was standing in front of her frightened daughter. One of the local gangs had become really aggressive and wanted all 'independent workers' like herself to work for them instead. She knew what it meant. She would be fleeced of what little she had and forced to do things she despised, maybe even forced into drugs if some rumors she heard were true.

"I said no, Rick," she said, trying to look surer than she was.

"Really, Claire?" replied Rick as he pointed his gun at the girl.

"No!" she yelled, forgetting all reason and rushing forward to grab the weapon.

Everything happened in a blur, confuse movements broken by the sound of gunfire.

"Mommy!" yelled Faith as her mother collapsed, a red stain spreading on her chest.

Rick gritted his teeth, knowing that he would have to kill the kid too now, so that she didn't tell the cops anything. Slowly, he started to aim again when he was interrupted by a flash of light at the end of the alley. Two persons were standing there, a man in military fatigue and a woman in tight leather clothes.

"Shit! Too late," said Diana.

"Stay focused. I take those thugs down, you take care of the hostile intentions I sense on the roofs," replied Mars, dashing forward.

Diana cursed herself. Not trusting herself on the matter, she had only kept a low level of surveillance on her 'double'. Her alarm spells had reacted too late and… there was magic here, muffling some presences on the roofs. She was pretty sure it had interfered with her own spells and she had a good idea of who was… watching. She teleported on the roof, conjured her VSS Vintorez and started to hunt, erasing her own presence.

In the street Mars started to move. He had already registered the whole tactical situation. The little girl trying to 'wake up' the dead woman was the objective he had to protect. All the others were hostiles. These mortals were about to understand why one of the epithets the Romans gave him was Ultor, the Avenger. He would show to the girl that her mother's murderers were punished. He would show her that while strength could be abused, it could also be a wonderful tool if applied properly, to serve worthy objectives.

One step to get within reach of his first target, a quick arm lock to relieve him of his knife and use him as a shield against the one with the gun. They were vaguely starting to react, though atrociously slowly and clumsily for the Olympian. He threw the retrieved knife straight into the chest of the goon with the gun, mentally deploring the poor balance of the weapon which prevented him from doing fancier maneuvers.

He dodged a knife strike, noticing that they were finally starting to counterattack. Taking the extended arm at the wrist with one hand, he punched it straight outside of the elbow, dislocating it. He had already decided that, at best, these people would spend some time at the hospital.

 _Two down, three left,_ he thought as he registered the man with the broken arm screaming on the ground _._

On a nearby roof, John Chapman, member of the Watchers' Council wetworks team, winced in sympathy as he saw Mars grab a man attacking him with a metal baseball bat by the crotch before projecting him face first on the concrete with one hand. He was feeling very nervous because the 'man' he had under in his sights was showing the kind of speed and strength he would expect from a master vampire. He had specific orders in this case and shifted his aim to the kid. Better for her to be dead than a demon's toy, he reasoned with himself.

"Remove your finger from the trigger," said a female voice near him at the same time he heard the characteristic noise of a gun being cocked.

He looked in the direction of the voice and saw a brunette woman in leather clothes, a small pistol aimed at him.

"You work for the Council, da?" asked Diana, using the knowledge of Russian she had acquired during the Great Patriotic War to force her accent. "You're here to grab a Potential… all the better if the mother is killed."

"You have no idea…"

Pain cut him as his left kneecap was shattered by a bullet. What shocked him more was that while he had seen the woman's weapon move a little under the recoil, there had been no flame, no smoke and no firing noise he could hear above the city's ambient noise. He vaguely remembered something about some special weapons developed for the KGB just before his other kneecap was shot. Then it was his wrists and his elbows, each shot aimed with perfect accuracy despite him flaying around.

"You are lucky I only have six bullets. To be clear, your team is dead. I have no mercy left for nekulturny bastard ready to kill little girls and doing nothing while a mother is killed before her kid's eyes. Don't even think about complaining or I will drag you by the hair down the stairs so that you can apologize to her. Now… I will give you a chance," she added, putting his radio ten meters away, in precarious balance on the building's ledge. "Farewell, bastard and say hello to Travers for me if you survive."

 _Let them believe some KGB secret program is responsible for her disappearance…_

"Janus," she said in her communicator once out of earing range. "I need you to run some numbers regarding Faith Lehane… yes, the 'new' one."

Back in the street, Little Faith felt strong arms holding her. It was him, the man with the beard, the one who disposed of Rick's gang like Chuck Norris in an action movie. But the way he held her… she felt safe.

"Are… are you my Daddy?" she asked, wondering once again about the father she never met.

Mars looked at her. In a way, he was. All Slayers had a little of him and the Fates knew how much he despised having been forced to trust them to the Watchers. Even if it was still too early to change things as a whole, maybe he could…

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

She nodded weakly as her eyes fell on her mother's body.

"Mom…"

"I'm sorry, Faith. I can do many things, but bringing back the dead is beyond my power."

"It's… it's all right. She was so sad… do you think she's in heaven?"

The Olympian projected his senses. As she had died a violent death, finding her soul on the way to the Underworld was easy. He knew how Pluto's judgment really worked and… yes, he could guess what would happen. Despite her faults, Claire Lehane had tried and died protecting her daughter.

"Not immediately," he replied, deciding to tell her the truth. "Your mother has a lot of pain she must rid herself of first. She will be go in a place called the Asphodel Meadows first. There she will be able to rest and think about her life. Once she's not sad anymore, she will go into Elysium."

Still hugging her with one arm, he put two coins on Claire's eyes before teleporting her body away. They would give her a proper burial in the Venusberg.

 _Janus ran the numbers. We can 'remove' her without impacting the Plan notably,_ transmitted Diana telepathically to him. _Will you really…_

 _Adopt her? I will ask again when she is less distraught and if she says yes, it will be reality._

 _This is going to be very awkward… I mean being my own niece. Well… at least I will be able to spoil myself rotten._

Mars dismissed the rather tactless attempt at humor, knowing how his sister used such tactics to hide her own pain. He just lifted the now sobbing child in his arms and let her cling to him as he walked away.

* * *

 _Author note: As you have seen, I am setting up things for Halloween with this story. Now one question I have, particularly for those who read the Traveller Chronicles posted on TTH, is if I should keep the Tenchi Muyo elements that existed in the TC. The way I have written things until now, I can do with or without and am slightly inclined to do without as it would solve some power level problems with handling characters like Ryoko (NB: The Olympians should not be counted in any power balance, for reasons that will become clear after Halloween). So if you have opinions on the matter, I will gladly read them._


	4. Chapter 4

_Author notes: I took some decisions regarding the nature of Naquadah in this chapter. I think they are working, though you may disagree about them._

 _Thanks to all the people who took time to review this story or mark it as a favorite._

 _Special thanks to Narsil for betaing this chapter._

 _Disclaimer: see chapter 1, updated with notes regarding use of Mass Effect and Shadowrun._

 _ **Rating:**_ _FR18_

* * *

 **IOH-4, January 1996**

The station personnel smiled kindly as they observed the two girls playing tag. It was not an unusual scene for them. Once the initial fright linked to weightlessness passed, most kids felt the need to experiment, particularly when it was their first time up here, and this was why this section of the station existed. In fact, the attendants in charge of the observation room, who were here mostly in case people got sick, were more agreeably surprised at how well they seemed to get along. With one maybe fifteen and the other ten or twelve… it was often the moment when the oldest wanted her baby sister to leave her alone. Both had a healthy tan, rather long hair – dirty blond for the oldest one and auburn for the youngest one – and were in good shape. From the station records, they were dual nationals with French and US citizenship and went by the name of Buffy Antonia Summers-Venturi and Dawn Maxima Summers-Venturi.

"Dawnie, come see this," said the oldest one as she saw something interesting beyond the observation bay.

A little further away, Hank Summers smiled as he saw his two daughters float with assurance. He was himself quite prudently keeping a hand on one of the many handles that adorned the room's walls.

 _Sure, it was more expensive to use this way to come back from la Réunion but seeing them both so excited… priceless._

"What are you thinking about?" asked his wife as she drifted near him, finally sticking her foot under one of the handles to anchor herself.

"That it was worth every cent to have us change 'planes' here."

"It's not like we can't afford it," replied Joyce with a shrug. "It's also ten hours faster than the old way to go from Saint-Denis to Los Angeles."

He nodded. The start from La Réunion was almost the same, a standard plane to Johannesburg. After that however, it was one shuttle for a rendezvous in orbit with one of the International Orbital Hubs acting as a transit hub for 'higher' destinations and another to Los Angeles. It was more expensive than the plane but she was right, money wasn't a problem. Between his consulting work for various software companies and the money coming from the patents on Joyce's inventions, they were very comfortable.

"But you are right… it's a wonderful gift for our daughters," she added. "One that will be difficult to top."

"Hmm… in one year or two, they should have finished that Armstrong Museum they are talking about."

"The Moon… yes, that would top it," she replied, cuddling against him. "It would also be the occasion to go visiting Andie and Markus…"

Joyce missed her sister. For the first time in years, Andromeda had missed one of the Christmas gatherings as she was very busy putting her lab back together on the Jules Verne Base. Even with her cutting-edge, so-classified-I-can't-even-dream-about-it job for the French military, she usually managed to come, even if it meant she only stayed for a few hours and that her travel mode involved some kind of fighter jet.

Though Andie could not tell her any details about her new job, the main reason had been widely advertised by the media and subject to a lot of philosophical debate concerning the militarization of space. The 1st Spahis regiment had been removed from the 'Armée de Terre' and moved to the Moon while being subject to many personnel transfers, including a grizzled combat instructor for the commandos of the 'Marine Nationale' called Markus von Schlesien. The Spahis' new mission was a return to the roots: the defense of the French colonies. Logically, Andie was busy designing and field-testing a lot of new equipment while her husband had to come up with ways to make the men efficient in space.

In truth, Joyce had been more worried about how her niece and nephew Mariko and Karl were adapting. Thankfully, their own Alteran heritage seemed to have kicked in and they saw it as one fantastic experience. Also, from the video call Andie had managed to establish on Christmas day, Mariko had told them there were fourteen kids in total on the base. It was fun and the most annoying part was all the exercise they had to do to make sure their muscles and skeleton developed correctly.

Still, Joyce thanked the fact she was just a 'simple' academic, currently 'between two institutions' as she took care of some personal research. She could move freely and, thankfully, security scanners had yet to be smart enough to see the differences between a human and an Alteran-human hybrid. Medical examinations were another matter of course but this was why she had a rather special family doctor recommended by a certain office of the Los Angeles French Consulate.

She smiled as she remembered a meeting she had over twenty years ago, as she was taking one of the key decisions of her life…

* * *

 **Paris, 1974**

Joyce was sitting in an office that officially belonged to some obscure annex of the archives of the 'Ministère de la Justice'. In truth, while the agents using the building had law enforcement powers, their mandate was different. It was in many ways essential but it was not one that could be acknowledged officially. The 'Septième Bureau' existed to handle creatures most people blissfully thought to be the realm of legend. Creatures like her.

She was currently sitting in front of its director, a man she had come to call Uncle Jacques over the years. He was looking better than he did the first time she saw him and she had a good idea why. With the way his Vril was undulating, a way she knew very well as she had often observed it on her Dad, the man had started to take Elixir of Life. She focused back on her immediate problem. She needed a favor from her uncle. She had been made an offer for a PhD at Caltech. She understood that she had some limitations normal people didn't have. It was the price to pay for such things as the Bureau faking her medical certificates. She would probably understand if he said no but… there was a note from Feynman himself saying he was looking forward to meeting her added to the invitation letter, for the Trimegistes' sake!

"Do you remember the day we met for the first time?" asked Berenger.

"Yes, it was in 61, the day the geothermal plant was inaugurated," she replied, wondering how he would construct his argument.

"Yes… that day, I wondered how much your family would influence this planet's history. Once I was back in my office a few days later, I put some more thought on the matter and I realized that your father had already contributed to change history."

"How so?"

"Before we continue, this falls under the non-disclosure agreement you signed."

"Understood… this is because of what Dad and you did together, right?"

"Yes. It was your father who helped me to… transmute my hypotheses into facts," said Jacques with a smile. "He also did something very brave that most of the other Résistants I spoke with considered pure madness. He traveled clandestinely to Germany and got me out of the death camps. He even made it so that I reached England and this allowed me to become De Gaulle's advisor on the supernatural. This event, as minor as it may seem, is in fact a major crossroad because of the possibilities it opened."

"I think I see… you were in the right place when the general was creating his government and he asked you to put the Bureau together. Without you, there wouldn't have been anyone reliable and letting… the usual suspects take care of things would have been the only reasonable solution."

Joyce knew that many in the old secret societies did not like at all the fact that some governments had decided to handle supernatural matters. From a discussion she had once with the Count, some of those attempts had ended badly, like with the American Demon Research Initiative. The Bureau's success was pretty much the success of one providential man: Jacques Berenger. The man's own brush with horror in the camps had led him to devise other solutions than the 'study it so that we can weaponize it' other groups had used. The Bureau tried more to act like a paranormal law enforcement agency and this implied that non-human sophonts – the Bureau was still trying to find something catchy enough to replace the negatively connoted demon – had rights and duties, even full citizenship if they applied for it. For Berenger, such details were not only a matter of being humane. It was preparation for the Big Reveal that was, according to his analysts, a matter of decades now. He had sworn that the Republic would be ready to prove she was still the country that created the Declaration of Human Rights then.

"Well reasoned. I wonder what I would have done without that… maybe become a writer. Anyway, this put me in a position that made a difference. I suppose you were taught in school about the war in Indochina?"

"Yes. My teacher insisted a lot on the disagreements between France and the USA on how to handle the conflict and how it sowed the seeds that led to the dissolution of NATO and the rise of the European Alliance in its place… aren't there a lot of hidden meta communities in the mountains areas there?"

Meta… he had a little smile at that. A simple term, maybe a comic book reference but based on facts in this case. Most demons were actually human hybrids and therefore metahumans. He filed the thought away. He would discuss it with his communication specialists.

"Yes, there are a lot of 'metas' in the mountains," he replied. "How they interacted with the various factions of the area, including the fact the colonial government ignored their presence, was one of the root causes of the war. It was also the first time I… butted heads with the Watchers and, as a consequence, became convinced of their… obsolescence."

"Why?"

"The Watchers were considering the supernatural aspects of the war as an isolated system."

"Ouch."

"Indeed. The whole Watcher philosophy is built around the idea that human evil is not for them to sort out. While it may seem a reasonable approach, one that allows them to focus on their mission without being tangled in mundane affairs, it has undesirable side-effects in the modern world, particularly when you mix it with the idea that kingdoms come and go while the Watchers endure. It creates in many Watchers the idea that any 'mundane' consequence of their actions is irrelevant, a collateral damage done for the Greater Good. In this case, their solution to the problem was simple and brutal… and completely oblivious to the effects it would have on the area's political stability. I honestly doubt that the Indochina Federation would have held if I had not stopped them."

Berenger had a bad taste in his mouth as he remembered the most despicable moment of that operation. Sometimes, deep in the night, he wondered if he could have spared that girl. He knew that she had been raised by the Watchers' Council and indoctrinated almost from infancy… could he have brought her in, taught her how to be a life-loving teenage girl instead of the Watchers' attack dog? He would never know. He had put a bullet through her brain because the situation was just too explosive and a Slayer, even in chains, was too dangerous. He could just hope he would not have to take that kind of decision again.

"Uncle Jacques..."

"Sorry, some… bad memories. To come back on the initial topic, your family has influenced history on several levels. The inventions released by your parents and more recently the classified work Andromeda is doing for 'la Grande Muette' are considered by those in the know to be a key to France's strategic advantage. While relations with the USA are not as bad as they were ten years ago, they will not like the idea of you studying abroad."

"You know Mom's policy on Alteran technology?"

"Yes. I know she only taught you learning methods and how to harness your capacities as a Vril-user. How did she say it? Something like: 'if my daughters are to fit in this world, I cannot afford to give them too many cheat sheets.'"

"Yes, that way whatever we discover is just normal scientific development and we're free to disclose it."

"I suppose I can sell it to the minister as part of the 'Détente' le Quai d'Orsay wants to have with Washington… I will put one condition thought. You are not to accept any contract with the American government without having a Bureau lawyer go through it first."

"That's fair. Agreed."

"Good. We have agents at the Los Angeles consulate. My secretary will give you the necessary contacts. I hope you enjoy California, Joyce."

"Thank you, uncle Jacques," she replied, rising to hug him.

* * *

 **IOH-4, January 1996**

"Mom, Dad, look! That's the Toy Box!" said Dawn, pointing at something on the station's exterior.

Joyce and Hank drifted toward their daughters and looked at the ugly grey orbital shuttle moored on the station. Back in 1991, the _Planetes_ TV show had done a lot to instill in the public the idea that space was not some distant thing. True, there were already space stations and Moon bases by then but the public did not really understand what it meant. Then came the shocking reveal at the end of the first season of _Planetes._

The zero-g scenes were not a special effect. They had been filmed in space and the reason why many of the actors were unknown people before the series was because of what some had called a 'Bruce Lee solution'. Rather than to teach actors how to behave in space, the members of the Debris Section were real astronauts working for Omphalos Industries who learnt to act and the figurants picked among the station personnel of the IOH-4. Likewise, their shuttle, the Toy Box, had been built for real and was considered the prototype of the many orbital shuttles now used in the Earth-Moon system. It was now kept as a kind of memorial here. After that day, for many people, space wasn't just the same. If a company could afford to film a TV show in orbit… a big 'open for business' had just been painted up there.

 _And now, five years later, it is a place where you start to see tourists like us…_

"Girls, we have two hours before we have to check in for the next shuttle," said Joyce. "How about we go to the gravity ring to grab a bite?"

"Funny they don't offer astronaut food to eat in zero-g," said Dawn. "I'm sure it would sell."

"Probably too messy… you imagine someone like Bert here?" replied Buffy, mentioning one of their kid neighbors known for his lack of table manners. "The filters would be clogged in no time."

Hank smiled as they drifted toward the elevator. Sure his family wasn't exactly what his late father would have called normal. Hank didn't really mind. He had his share of fights with Arthur Summers and his ideas of a woman's proper place, particularly after Joyce made her own opinions on the matter clear, making quite a few references to dinosaurs and cavemen in regard to his father. In the end, he had decided to keep his side of the family unaware of some realities.

For most people, including his own parents, the Summers-Venturi was just a family of science geeks. He was a software developer, mostly working for the gaming industries these days. His wife was a genius who was pretty much worshipped by most of the people in his field for inventing the optical chips that opened a whole new era of computing. As for his daughters… while he still insisted they go to public school so that they could socialize, he recognized that normal classes would just make them miserable. Both Buffy and Dawn had not only skipped a grade but were also taking all the advanced classes they could.

There was also another, darker side though and he was very thankful that Joyce had warned him thoroughly about it when they started getting serious in their dating. Sure, being dragged into that demon bar taxed his sanity, but at least he knew what he was signing up for when he married her. He had no idea how he would have handled a later reveal.

All in all, he was rather happy. Sure, there was the occasional supernatural occurrence in their life, like when Joyce used what he called 'her Jedi tricks' to zap that demon at the hospital or how he had learnt the hard way that if Dawn had a paper cut, her blood had better not end up on any kind of mystical drawing, particularly the ones related to summoning.

 _But still, we're making it work…_

* * *

 **La Réunion, January 1996**

Ariana played the scene on the TV, hit rewind and played it again, listening one more time to the explanations Tali Zora Vas'Neemah gave to a kid of the Feros colony about how mass effects and Element Zero – often shortened eezo – worked. The Alteran usually avoided science fiction shows as her own scientific knowledge often got in the way of enjoying the story, but her grandchildren had insisted on watching the Christmas special episode of Mass Effect. After a few minutes, she had started to raise a very intrigued eyebrow.

Shortly after the family left to go back to their own homes in France or the USA, she had bought and downloaded the first season from the Ad Astra Channel server. Since then, she had been going through a marathon session, taking a lot of notes in a wiry Alteran shorthand. On the paper, a word was circled several times, followed by the Alteran symbol for a question mark.

 _Guess it's time for a little experiment…_

She got up and took the elevator going down, inside the bunker hidden in the rock below the Venturi estate, the very secure place that held her and her husband's labs. She put her hand on the bioelectric scanner to open the door of the rare components vault before going straight to the case holding a small black ingot. Holding the precious material, she returned to her main lab with the same decided stride.

"Philippe," she said, letting the lab's central computer locate and transmit her voice to her husband. "I took the orichalcum. I need around… ten grams of it for an experiment."

"Sure," replied the alchemist's voice on the loudspeakers. "I'm coming."

A few minutes later, he found her reading Alteran texts on her computer, her Vril-enhancing bracer already on her right arm. A small piece of the dense black mineral had been cut away from the ingot and set in a ceramic crucible.

Over the years, he had been able to complete his knowledge of this metal with some texts from his wife's database. Orichalcum itself was Element 164, which had a completely aberrant stability given its atomic number. According to the Alteran sources, many of its unusual properties, including the stability, was related to how it interacted with dark matter. The way it was created in nature was itself unusual, implicating complex interactions between an exploding supernova and the local hyperspace.

"Ariana… correct me if I am wrong, but does this have to do with the hours you spent watching Mass Effect lately?"

"Yes. For a Terran, the show is just using a little less technobabble than the old Star Trek."

"A statement that leads to a question. What does it look like to an Alteran?"

"Disturbingly accurate. I am not speaking about the alien species described in the show, though my people surveyed some planets that had an environment built around dextro proteins like the Turians or the Quarians in the show."

"Those reports are seven million years old, that gives time for evolution to work. Any chance this could describe current species?"

"I don't have sufficient information to give a reliable answer," she replied with a sigh. "What I can tell, though, is that the technology described in the show works. If we take faster-than-light propulsion… my people normally used hyperdrive which basically means opening a portal to take a shortcut through another dimension, then going out. In Mass Effect, the ships stay in real space. At first I thought it to be just artistic license but thinking about the other technologies triggered some memories. I remembered that this technology had been developed but judged too inefficient compared to hyperdrive. According to my database, this kind of drive was used only once, for an extragalactic exploration project."

Philippe nodded, understanding the logic. From what he remembered from a previous discussion he had with his wife, a ship in hyperspace was similar to a diving submarine. The picture it had of what happened in real space was limited and for exploration ships it may mean missing something.

"What about Element Zero then?" he asked, remembering it was the basis for all the Mass Effect technology. "From what you told me, orichalcum is at the core of Alteran technology but it does not have the same properties."

"You are partly right. See," she said, activating her bracer and putting her hands on both sides of the crucible.

The alchemical circle drawn around the crucible flared. Of course, over the decades, Philippe had taught the Art to his wife but he had soon discovered that she had an advantage that no human could hope to match. As a Vril user she was a living Philosopher's Stone and she could replace many of the lengthy processes needed to create a reaction with pure will and clear intent. The fragment of orichalcum started to change, soon acquiring a blue-white glow. Ariana directed a jolt of electricity into it and it started to float, taking the small crucible with it.

"Meet Element Zero, also known as white orichalcum, same element but different isotope. As the interactions with dark matter are caused by the nucleus' structure…"

"Any alteration to it changes radically some of the properties of orichalcum… it has exactly the same properties as the Element Zero described in the show?"

"Yes. The one thing I am not sure about are those 'biotics' described in the show as we weren't crazy enough to expose people to a toxic material to see if it bonded with the nervous system."

"How did the Alterans consider… let's call it eezo to prevent confusion, agreed?"

"Agreed. In the old times, just a curiosity. We never found any large deposits – not that it means there are none – only traces in regular orichalcum ore. Our technology did not have any need for it but if a civilization had access to large quantities of eezo at a stage similar to the current Terran one… at least some of the Mass Effect technologies seem to be a logical development."

"So, to summarize: eezo exists with properties like the one described in the show. Your people knew about it. They never encountered large deposits but the galaxy is a big place. Other technologies described in the show are actually using principles your people knew… the Olympians?"

"A definite possibility. But why?"

* * *

 **Los Angeles, January 1996**

Buffy was skateboarding expertly through the streets. At first glance, the scene would have been familiar to someone of the eighties, maybe reminding them of Marty McFly in _Back to the Future._ A few things however, made it clear that while this wasn't the 2015 described in the second part of that movie trilogy, time had marched on.

Most of the girl's clothes were nothing unusual: jeans, sneakers, red and black checkered flannel shirt worn loose and with rolled up sleeves over a black t-shirt printed with a red coiled snake drawn in a vaguely Native American style. Some other items were another matter, like the black metal gauntlet on the girl's left arm, the wrap-around sunglasses with integrated headphones and the wire pinned to her shirt that linked the two items. Even if an astronaut may have recognized the combination as a stripped-down version of the computer system found in modern spacesuits, it was certainly not a usual sight on the streets of Los Angeles.

Her skateboard itself was raising some eyebrows. Sure, it wasn't a hoverboard but it was still motorized, its electric engine able to propel the girl at nearly twenty miles per hour at top speed. Of course, the batteries wouldn't last long then but Buffy was still working some problems out of her prototype. The dynamo recharging the batteries when the board was rolling unpowered was still not efficient enough for her taste.

 _Even if I understand her reasons, sometimes it's a pain that Grand-Maman is keeping such a tight lid on Alteran tech… well, at least I will be able to patent my board once it's ready. If I had a fancy alien tech one… guess the Bureau would have a word or two with little old me…_

That was, in her opinion, the big downside of being part alien – she didn't dare to even think quarter after the gene therapies her grandmother gave her to fix some issues with her metabolism – and an alchemist in training. The French equivalent of the Men in Black would always be keeping an eye on her family. Sure, it was not very invasive, but there were things she just couldn't do. Medical examination in school? She had to come up with an excuse except for the simplest things. Chemistry class? She had to make sure to keep her knowledge about 'public chemistry' and alchemy separate. At least, she didn't have her Mom's problems with her Vril abilities… yet. Most of the things she knew how to do reliably were internal, like what she called her Astral Perception in reference to her favorite game. On the other hand, her Mom had a tendency to go 'Sith Lord' if she got too angry, with her telekinesis and electrokinesis reacting to her aggressive thoughts, like with the demon at the hospital.

 _But let's remember what Grand-Maman said: 'you have the talent. How far you'll go is just a matter of training and experience now'._

The fingers of her left hand touched her palm on the right spot to turn her skate's engine off. According to her estimations, she had enough inertia to reach the school grounds and the battery could use a little charge for the return trip in the afternoon. She remembered when she had started at Hemery High a year and a half ago. She was then the tiny thirteen-year-old who skipped a grade… well to be fair she still hoped she had a growth spurt coming. All in all, she thought that she had not managed her freshman year too badly even if she gained a reputation as the school's Nerd Queen.

 _At least the popular girls clique is avoiding me like the plague now…_

She had a little smile as she remembered the events. At first, she had been approached by them. Sure, she had skipped a grade but she was rich and pretty, which meant they had to try to recruit her. Maybe because of her young age then, she didn't take any clear position, naively thinking she could stay away from school politics and concentrate on her studies. She quickly realized her mistake but, thankfully, fate offered her an interesting solution in the person of Kimberly Hannah.

 _Speaking of Kim… here she is._

She got down off her skateboard and picked it up. She waved to her friend who was sitting on a low wall, typing on the laptop Buffy had helped her build.

"How was it up there?" asked Kim, closing her computer as she got up.

"Loved it, even if it was only for a few hours. I'm definitely working in space after college."

"Good for you… maybe I'll do that too."

They both smiled. Shortly after she started her freshman year, Kim had approached her, asking for tutoring. In appearance, Kimberly was part of the popular girls' clique, the school elite, but Buffy had quickly discovered a sadder truth. The teen was in fact the whipping girl of that group's alpha bitches and the only reason she put up with the abuse was because she craved to be acknowledged. When they met, Kim was an emotional wreck and her grades were plummeting.

This struck a chord in Buffy's soul. She took the lost teen under her wing and, under the guise of tutoring, made it her mission to rebuild the girl. This was the reason why the popular girls were avoiding her and Kim. It was because in six months Buffy had transformed a valley girl into a first class nerd. So they treated the whole nerd clique that had gathered around Buffy as if they were a pack of rabid werewolves, fearing any prolonged contact could contaminate them.

"You saw all the buzz in the forums about the Christmas Special?" asked Buffy.

"Impossible to do otherwise. After they killed Shepard in the first season's last episode… we were all waiting to see how they would handle the fallout."

"Well… with the actress pregnant, they needed a reason to get her off screen for a while. Still… Cerberus."

Kim could only nod. During the first season, Cerberus had been depicted as a secret society of human supremacists severely lacking in the conscience department, particularly after that episode where Shepard found one of their scientific projects studying the technology of the show's big bads, the Reapers. The point creating a noticeable level of outrage among some fans was the deal with the Devil Liara T'Soni had struck with Cerberus at the end of the Christmas Episode. She had given them Shepard's corpse because the Illusive Man – Cerberus' mysterious leader – had promised that the mad scientists at his service could bring the Commander back to life.

"Well… I guess the whole gang is going to need to vent off. Friday night's game is going to be interesting," said Buffy.

Kim had a mischievous smile. She remembered a time when she would have scoffed at the idea of a weekly RPG session as a loser's pastime. That was before Buffy destroyed all of the things she held for certain and helped her to rebuild herself. Things that she used to like had become boring. It was as if her mind was getting hungrier the more the family learning methods Buffy taught her sank in. She started playing _Shadowrun_ because she could not stand the idea of spending the evening talking about boys with a bunch of airheads anymore. She learned all the rules and how to make the most of her character… then she started to enjoy being a hacker – or rather decker to use the game's terminology – called Nightcrash during her evening sessions, helping to plan their runs with military precision as both the game and Buffy's gamemastering style had a very low tolerance for screw-ups. Probably what shocked her the most was the warm welcome she had received from the gang, despite the way she had treated them in the past.

 _Even if some of them think I'm the Vader to Buffy's Palpatine,_ she thought with a smile.

"Thankfully, we're not playing our regular Shadowrun campaign. At least, when Billy has us playing _Paranoia,_ total party kills are expected."

Buffy laughed at that. While Shadowrun was a rather serious setting centered on bands of mercenaries in a mashup of cyberpunk dystopian future and fantasy, Paranoia was… crazy fun. The game gave each player conflicting personal objectives alongside the main mission and expected them to betray each other. When you added to this the setting, a city-sized bomb shelter run by an insane computer where a cloned population only had a very vague idea of what the world before the atomic war looked like… crazy fun indeed. Its only inconvenience in some people's opinion was that it needed rather mature players able to not take things personally when their character was backstabbed by another player.

"Someone is talking about Friend Computer?" asked a playful voice from behind them.

"Hi, Billy!" replied Kim while Buffy waved at the boy who joined them as they walked on the school grounds.

Neither said anything about his most striking feature: he was completely bald. A few months ago, Buffy had noticed something wrong with her friend's Vril and she nudged him to see a doctor about the headaches he sometimes got. Buffy was very thankful she had seen that as Billy Fordham was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Luckily, it had been spotted early enough and could be treated. When the therapy he was going through made him lose most of his hair, Billy said that if he was going to look like Lex Luthor he had to do it right and shaved the rest. Even now that he was cured, he kept shaving it, liking the style. Not that he was alone in that feeling. Some spacers, after they got sick of having to find ways not to have their hair floating wildly in zero-g, had done the same and it was starting to become a trend.

She waved goodbye to her friends as they reached the lockers and Billy and Kim headed for their respective classes. She quickly folded her skateboard and put it away in her locker with her gauntlet and wired glasses. She thought about the Latin translation she had to turn in this morning… she just hoped she hadn't messed it up too badly. She had a tendency to mix up classical Latin and Alteran.

Closing her locker, she headed to her next class.

* * *

 **Los Angeles, May 1996**

Buffy was dreaming. Given the way her brain was wired, it didn't happen for her in the same way it did for humans. Things were far more organized, the dreamscape displaying more attention to detail and she could easily decide to slip into full lucid dreaming and remember a dream she found interesting.

Her current dream was in some ways typical for a teenage girl. True, some aspects of it were not usual and may have been considered disturbing by some people. Its central theme though, was pretty common and the way Buffy moved under her sheets would have given an observer an idea of the topic.

The décor of the dream was the Citadel, a big space station that was the seat of the galactic government in Mass Effect. More precisely, it was taking place in the Presidium, not too far away from the Human Embassy. Buffy was in a remote spot in one of the parks, lying with someone else on a blanket, a picnic basket near them. She was leaning toward him, looking straight into his gold on black eyes, her lips parting in anticipation of the coming kiss.

The slight problem some may have with that fantasy of hers was that the male was not human, but a bony humanoid creature that some had called a kind of evolved dinosaur. Buffy didn't care that the skin her hand was caressing was covered with a cream-colored carapace or about the mandibles spreading a little to better allow for their kiss. She just remembered that his dextro-proteins and her own levo ones meant they had to pay a little attention when exchanging bodily fluids. Race or even appearance? Irrelevant. The reason he was her favorite Turian was his personality.

"Garrus…" she said softly as his talon-like fingers caressed her back.

She frowned as she felt the embrace melt, the whole décor around her shifting to something else. Gone were the Citadel's peaceful parks, replaced by something that looked like a medieval inn. The scene's main feature was a fight between a girl and a creature she immediately recognized thanks to her grandfather's lessons: vampire.

 _I did not ask for that_ , she thought, her mind now completely lucid.

She let the scene unfold, noticing the superhuman level of physical prowess the girl was showing. She also noticed that she was around her age and that she seemed desperate… no that wasn't it. Tired, wanting for it to end but still fighting, out of pride or maybe of habit. Buffy averted her eyes as the vampire finally managed to land the killing blow. It wasn't because of the violence. It was because the girl's eyes were saying: 'I can finally rest'.

She knew it was the point where most people would have woken up in a cold sweat. Not her. She was Alteran and she did not take kindly to anything trying to hack her mind. She still woke up, but with a determined mind as she immediately sat on her bed in the lotus position, shifting to her Astral Perception to observe her own Vril. Yes, it was there. Small, blending in quite well if you didn't suspect it. It was like a tumor on her soul, still small but already burgeoning.

She decided to analyze the thing a little better and warn her pa… a ripple coming from the tumor. Was it surprise? Buffy was still wondering as she felt her awareness being sucked in, a little like during her own attempts at Astral Projection. Her room faded, replaced with an arid landscape. Her quick analysis revealed a structure similar to the medieval dream, alien structure pasted on her own thought. There was something else though, something lurking.

"Sorry, but I have no intention of speaking to you yet," said Buffy, concentrating. "This is my brain and… say hello to Seattle for me!"

She pushed with all of her will, using the techniques that allowed her to shape her own dreams. She heard the scream of frustration of the thing as the savannah melted away. Buffy was now standing in a high-tech office and she quickly manipulated the controls on the security cameras to see her opponent.

 _Interesting… she represents herself as some kind of dark-skinned cavegirl._

She eased out of her meditation, taking great care to keep her concentration. For now, the invader was lost in the virtual world she had created for her but this situation was entirely dependent on her continuing to feed this 'dream'. She walked slowly toward her parents' room. She could feel the emotions of the 'tumor'. It was temporarily off-balance because it wasn't used to resistance.

"Mom," she said as she entered the room. "I have a problem…"

* * *

 **Venusberg, May 1996**

They were a group of apparently teenaged girls sitting on marble benches around a pool situated in what had once been a cave. Once, because the girls living in the nearby village had taken it as a pastime to transform the place into a subterranean temple. It had taken them decades but time was not important when you were already dead and had to do something to keep your afterlife busy.

The architecture was Egyptian with some Greek influences, though the frescoes that adorned the walls showed a variety of styles going from Ancient Egyptian to modern street art. One familiar with the history of art could however have seen a progression, from the oldest to the newest styles and with a blank section of wall after the latter. All of them also shown similar scenes: the prowess of a warrior girl against monsters. A girl whose age was similar to the girls sitting around the central pool.

The pool itself was circular and at its center lay a rock in which an axe of red metal was embedded in a way similar to the sword of Arthurian myth. It was the Scythe, a legendary weapon forged in ancient times for the Slayer. The Lord Mars – the only man who had the right to touch it – had moved it there over a century ago, saying its old hiding place wasn't safe anymore. When he struck the rock with the Scythe, a source sprung from the rock, its waters bathing the ancient blade before it cascaded into the pool and, through a small canal, flowed into the village.

Of course, the waters were not ordinary. How could they be given the circumstances of their creation? The Slayers spending their afterlife in Venusberg had made the place a shrine but this was not a simple matter of respect for a symbol. The waters were highly magical, charged with the power of the God of War and of the Scythe. Should a Slayer drink them, they were a source of health, often used when sparring got a little rough.

It went further though as Faith had discovered shortly after she came there. For a Potential like her, drinking from the source meant instant Calling. This was one of the reasons she was sitting with the others around the pool now. She had been a Slayer for five years, not that she minded. The training she had gone through during these years – either with her new Dad or with her fellow Slayers – would have probably killed her if she had remained human.

What they were doing was not really a ceremony, though the Senior Slayer, an Egyptian girl called Neferneferuaten Tasherit – Nefer for short – had sure made it feel like it. Not that Faith could fault her for that. Nefer was the daughter of a Pharaoh after all and her education had been that of a priestess.

 _But being an Egyptian priestess is not like a Christian priest. Magic is a mandatory class for them,_ she thought, also remembering that Nefer was one of the few Slayers the Watchers never could get their grabby hands on. Just like her and like the one they were observing, now that Nefer was using the Scythe's magic to turn the waters into a scrying pool.

"Hem… what is happening to the Sineya?" asked Xin Rong as she watched the scene in a liquid mirror.

They were all familiar with the black girl with dreadlocks and white facial markings clad in ancient rags that was at the center of the image. They had all met her at one point or another in their dreams and they knew what she was: an echo of the First Slayer, the avatar of the force that gave them all their power, the part of the Slayer that migrated from girl to girl. The problem was the landscape around her. They were used to see her in a savannah that had been the hunting grounds of Sineya. Not this time. This time, Sineya was standing on some kind of half-destroyed highway bridge, looking at the night skyline of a sprawling city, dominated by a huge pyramid marked with the word 'RENRAKU'.

"I think Buffy took control of the dream and sent the Slayer to lose herself in a fantasy world of her own," replied Jehanne, who had lived during the Hundred Years War.

In the pool, Sineya turned her head and dodged artfully as what looked to the assembled Slayers like a gang of demon bikers charged her.

"I don't recognize those demons," said Nikki Wood, a Slayer who died during the Seventies and had more or less been Faith's surrogate Mom since the then little girl had arrived in Venusberg.

"I don't think they're real demons," replied Jehanne. "They must be from a book she likes or something like that… and I really hope it's that because…"

They all winced in sympathy as, inside the dream, Sineya was blasted away by the explosion of an antitank RPG. Demons using modern military weapons was not something most of them liked to contemplate. They still remembered the mess Tarja had been when she arrived two years before, having been mowed down by assault rifles. Even now, the Scandinavian Slayer still insisted the demons had cheated.

Faith had no such preconceptions but she recognized that the education her father gave her was definitely not the one a Watcher-raised Slayer like Tarja had received. Mars was raising her to become a general, not a mere grunt. He had drilled repeatedly into her that war was not a matter of fairness. It was a matter of objectives and how far you were ready to go to fulfill them.

"Why does she fight it? I mean, why does Buffy fight the Call?" asked Xin Rong.

"Didn't we all resent it at one point or another? Didn't we all have times where we desired a normal life?" replied Nefer. "I certainly did."

"It is different for her," said Jehanne. "She knows she will never be what most people consider normal. Her very blood won't let her. She has learned to accept it, you have seen… her fantasy," she finished, blushing.

"What she wants is not normalcy. It's control," said Nikki thinking about Buffy's reaction to the Slayer Dream. "That's why she's fighting the Call… but she won't win. The Slayer will wear her defenses down eventually."

"Yep," said Faith, "but that's not the goal here."

"What do you mean?" asked Xin Rong.

"It's a diversion," she replied with a grin. "Notice that the attacks are all big shows: grenades, explosives and all. The goal is not to kill Sineya but to keep her busy. You can bet that she is telling her parents about it."

"Running to Mama?" asked Nikki.

"If I had her parents, I would," replied Jehanne on a slightly stern tone.

"Right," replied Nikki with a sigh.

"Add to this the fact she has both Alteran smarts and a human's twisted mind… as my big sis Discordia would say, a 'delightful combination'," said Faith, making air quotes around her two last words.

* * *

 **Los Angeles, May 1996**

"…and that's all I know about her," said Buffy.

The whole Summers family was sitting in Joyce's lab as it was the place best equipped for a video conference. On the big screen currently split into three windows, several faces were frowning as Joyce had decided there was no time for half-measures and called in the cavalry. In the middle window, Ariana and Philippe looked very worried while in the left one, Jacques Berenger was staring at Buffy with his sharp, analytical gaze. In the right one… the Count of Saint-Germain was looking at the teen with evident sympathy.

"Saint-Germain," said Jacques. "The Slayer?"

"Almost certainly," replied the Count.

"What is the Slayer exactly? From what I was told, she's a killer in the Watchers' employ," asked Joyce.

Buffy's mother was really not happy about the situation. From her own observations, that thing already had hooks straight into her daughter's life force and no exorcism would get it out of her. Now she learnt that it was linked to someone who had a terrible reputation among the metas.

The Count started to talk, explaining some basic facts about the Slayer. While he sincerely wanted to help Buffy, he had to keep the bigger picture in mind. At Minerva's request, he had never told the Venturi about the Goa'uld and he could now guess part of the reason. So he just said that the Slayer had been created millennia ago and that while the Watchers were currently in charge of her, she was not their creation. He said how the 'tumor' Buffy had identified was the source of the power and how it migrated to another host after the current one's death.

"That Slayer thing is a kind of possession, right? Will it control my daughter?" asked Hank.

"From the data I have on past Slayers, no," replied Jacques. "Those who were tightly controlled were so as a result of the indoctrination they received at the hands of the Watchers. You have to be aware that there are historical precedents of them killing Slayers they cannot control, in hope the next one will be more pliable."

"Can the link be undone without killing the host?" asked Buffy who was obviously straining to split her attention between the conversation and maintaining the dreamscape distracting the Slayer.

"It was tried many times," replied Jacques, "but no attempt has ever been successful. However, the attempts I know about were made by demonic factions trying to eliminate the Slayer for good."

"Would killing me temporarily work?"

"Unknown," replied the Count. "The main issue is that it is already linked to your life force and that it will soon start to mutate your system to match its needs: augmented senses and physical abilities mostly. Your Vril will also start to emit… a rather aggressive wave that most demons will sense."

"Why?" asked Hank.

"A lightning rod to force supernatural menaces to concentrate on her," replied Ariana. "From what Jacques said, the Slayer is considered expendable."

"Harsh, but true, I am afraid," added Jacques.

"Uncle Jacques, Monsieur le Comte," said Buffy. "Is it possible that the Slayer was… 'patched' by the Watchers to fit their own methods? To me the aggression aura feels like someone wanted to make sure the Slayer would not try to be all buddy-buddy with the metas."

"Unknown again, I am afraid," replied Saint-Germain.

"If the host is willing, would it be possible to do that? Would it be possible to add a patch of our own on top of the rest?" she continued.

"What do you have in mind?" asked Jacques.

"I. Am. Not. Expendable," she replied, detaching each word. "If I cannot eject it then we anchor it to me for good. I die and that thing dies with me. If we can, we get rid of the aggression aura and make some specs updates. I want the Watchers to find a Slayer 2.0 when they look for little old me."

"What kind of updates?" asked the Count, smiling mirthfully.

"Here is what I have in mind…" started Buffy.

As he listened to his daughter, Hank Summers clenched his jaw. He could not deny that there was a part of him that wanted to just pack up and leave, to flee the madness that his life would probably soon become. One look at Buffy's face quashed it. His daughter wasn't desperate but determined to win. He had to be there just like he knew Joyce, Dawn and all the Venturi would. He had to support her and if it meant he had to fight… so be it.

* * *

 _Additional author notes: I'm posting here some notes for people familiar with the games wondering about this story's Mass Effect TV show._

 _\- Shepard is a female adept with Spacer and War Hero background._

 _\- The Season 1 (aired in 1995) covers the events of the first game. Kaidan (who was Shepard's romantic interest) dies on Virmire and Anderson is named Councilor. The season ends with the Collector Ship attack on the Normandy, Shepard plummeting from orbit in her depressurized suit being the end-of-season cliffhanger._

 _\- The 2-hours long Christmas Special episode of 1995 covers more or less the events of Mass Effect: Redemption where Liara T'Soni, Cerberus and the Shadow Broker agents all try to get a hold of Shepard's corpse. The episode ends with Miranda Lawson overseeing the start of the Lazarus Project to bring Shepard back alive._

 _\- Season 2 starts with episodes covering more of the secondary characters' lives during the two-years gaps between the games, fleshing out more the universe. For example, it shows Wrex's involvement with the Krogan clans on Tuchanka, Tali's work for the Quarian Flotilla. Mid-season, the events of the second game start._


	5. Chapter 5

_Author notes: Thanks to all the people who took time to review this story or mark it as a favorite._

 _Special thanks to Narsil for betaing this chapter._

 _ **Grayiron:** there are a few other crossovers planned but introduction will be gradual. For now, it's Mass Effect and another that will become evident with this chapter.  
_

 _ **Sajuuk:** well, I can tell you that you that there will be tech from other universes coming in. Which ones is something I will reveal little by little. _

_Disclaimer: see chapter 1_

 _ **Rating:**_ _FR18_

* * *

 **Los Angeles, Tuesday 14 May 1996**

The whole Summers-Venturi family had taken the day off. As far as the school was concerned, it was a food poisoning problem that affected both Buffy and Dawn. Hank didn't need to see any of his customers before Thursday and Joyce was doing independent research anyway. As for why she was using her own money instead of taking one of the offers of the universities which would love to have a Physics Nobel Prize on their staff, it was simple: it had too many connections with alchemy to be made public. Currently though, she and the rest of her family were busy working on a solution to the Slayer problem.

Dawn was with Buffy in the neighboring office, the former reading intelligence reports sent by Jacques about the Slayer and summarizing them orally to her sister so that the latter did not have to split her concentration from the dreamscape distracting Sineya too much. As she had told her uncle, she may be only ten, but she had a working brain and she wanted to help. Jacques had just smiled lightly and said something about her being a Venturi all right. So she read and analyzed. One thing she had quickly understood was that while the reports didn't mention the information's methods of acquisition, Dawn had a serious hunch that the Bureau spied a lot on the Watchers and maybe even welcomed Watcher defectors. Some passages of the reports had obviously been written by someone very picky about the Queen's English.

In the lab, Joyce was going through the specifications Buffy had told them about, discussing them with the Count and her father, as her mother was currently on the way to Los Angeles, while Jacques had to cater to his own duties. Saint-Germain was of course the expert here. As a master of homunculus creation, he knew many things about putting enchantments on living bodies. He also knew a lot about the Slayer and Joyce was pretty sure that he acted as a mentor for at least one of them. On the papers in front of her, the list of points noted down had been slowly transformed into a schema on the neighboring sheet. It was just a rough sketch; an idea of what elements the enchanting circle would need to contain if they were to obtain the desired result.

"Joyce, I will be frank," said Saint-Germain. "We have established that the enchantment Buffy would like to obtain is possible but… crafting the circle correctly will take months and require materials that are difficult to acquire."

"You are right, or rather you were right. A few years ago it would have. Hank?" she asked, handing him her latest notes.

Hank was sitting in front of a terminal linked to the lab's supercomputer, a monster his wife had put together to study the possibilities the non-binary nature of optical microchips opened in fields like artificial intelligence. He immediately put the notes under a scanner and started to type. On the screen, the sketch started to refine itself as its elements were matched with its painstakingly scanned database of alchemical lore.

"Sharing the feed now, honey," he replied while typing a few command lines.

Shortly after Buffy's birth, when it became evident that she inherited at least some of her mother's alien traits, he had seriously thought about his own situation. While the character of Darrin Stephens in the old _Bewitched_ show was great for comedic value, he had no intention of becoming like him. So he started to look for a way to get into their world. He had no talent for chemistry or innate Vril abilities but when he asked his wife some questions about the inscriptions enchantments used, he realized something. They were using strict rules. In other words, they were code and code was something he knew intimately. So he started to work during whatever spare time he could scrounge, asking his wife not to tell anyone anything until he had enough to really impress his in-laws.

In another place far away, the Count of Saint-Germain was shocked as he looked at the screen. He searched for errors as, under his very eyes, what should have been the work of months of patient design was reduced to a mere minute as the computer chained billions of calculations. The style was unfamiliar but he could find no obvious fault. He clicked on some elements, displaying the reasoning and the elements from the database that led the computer to take a decision or another. He also noticed the name the Summers family had given to 'the monster': Isaac. He could guess the logic behind it. Sir Isaac Newton was sometimes considered as both the last of the medieval alchemists and the first of the modern scientists.

He briefly wondered why he, who had once traveled between stars and had access to science the humans could only dream of, never actually thought of creating something like this. He realized just as quickly that he knew the answer. While he wasn't afflicted with the problem of many magic-users, who saw their art as something forever separate from science, he was victim of a bias of his own species. The Goa'uld had a psychological problem with computers. They were fine with dedicated systems operating one machine or another but networks like the human Internet were alien to them. Their whole culture was not designed to handle the kind of trust that allowed for the development of efficient information technologies. As a consequence, most of the Goa'uld 'software' was in fact hardware, chips designed to do one unique task. It both made tampering harder and maintenance by their ignorant servants easier, as they just had to replace the defective parts and not delve into thousands of code lines… which would need them to understand how things were actually working.

 _And this kind of bias may be why Egeria's little band of rebels is still active. They had to design a new culture based on cooperation and it opened whole new ways of thinking for them. Something to debate the next time I meet the others…_

"Is everything all right?" asked Joyce on the screen.

"Yes, Madame… this old man was just reminded of the power of youth's ingeniousness. Is this software your work?"

"It's all Hank. I merely provided the sources for the database," she replied with a radiant smile.

"We will have to run more scenarios to test the limits of your Isaac, Monsieur," replied the Count, with a small hand gesture toward Hank, as if he was tipping his hat to him. "But for now, let's see to our current challenge… I suppose you have a way to draw the circle automatically?"

"Yes," replied Hank while opening a feed to one of the lab's cameras.

A steel frame was hanging above a spotless flat surface. The important thing about this frame were the four robotic arms, similar to the ones used for precision work in car factories, all equipped with things that looked like very fine paint sprayers.

"This leaves the problem of the materials," added the Count with a nod while noting that Isaac did not detail that point.

"Not really," replied Joyce. "Do you see the information about wavelengths in the Isaac's output?"

"Yes, I suppose they are related to the aetheric resonances… what did you find out?"

"As you may know, my family was on good terms with Leonardo and we inherited many of the notes that could not be made public. He had some theories about the interactions between Vril – the Aether – and light but he was limited by the technology of his time. I was able to conclude his work and I intended to present my research before the Order at the next Conclave."

Saint-Germain looked again at the circle and suddenly some stylistic details he had been wondering about made sense. The small external structures were the points where light sources would be attached. They would probably be lasers whose light would be modulated by the computer to be emitted inside the circle with precise patterns… a circle printed in optic fibers. He started to laugh.

"Do you realize the mayhem this will cause?" he asked. "This is the dawn of a new age for alchemy."

"Hence why I preferred to keep this a secret until I had ironed out all the details. However…"

"Yes, we need this now rather than later. Are you not…"

"Afraid of using an experimental technology on my daughter?" cut in Joyce. "Of course. But I have no time for hesitation. Buffy will not hold for long. Papa?"

"I can find no fault in your calculations, Joséphine," replied Philippe, using the birth name she disliked to stress the seriousness of the situation. "I also know that sometimes you just do what you can with the means you have, because waiting for a better solution would mean losing it all. Before we start, may I speak with Buffy?"

"Of course."

* * *

Janus laughed as he looked at the images displayed by three different temporal probes. A long time ago, when he had been mortal, Ariana had been a model for him, someone he considered a true Alteran, unafraid to push the limits of science and master reality. He had therefore kept an eye on her and her descendants and been very interested to see how the new race she and Philippe Venturi engendered evolved. The truth was that Human-Alteran hybrids were not reputed to be the most mentally stable of people, something alluded to many times in the Greek myths. When you added to the mix innate Vril-usage abilities and Philippe's exposure to the mutagenic substances present in the Philosopher's Stone, the mix was explosive. As he had more or less expected, it had generated something new, a bogeyman that humanity had told many stories about since the beginning of the Industrial Age and that was often summarized with the name of Doctor Victor Frankenstein.

Some may have argued that it wasn't his role, that according to the Roman myth, he was the god of beginnings and endings. The Romans had actually tried to put him in a little box that fit their orderly worldview and they didn't have all the facts. One of those was that Prometheus was not chained in Tartarus. The truth was that humanity's creator, tired of his long life, had obtained from Pluto the waters of Lethe to drink and be reincarnated as a human. Janus had been covering for him since the Antiquity even though he made sure his friend would be credited correctly in the myths of the Greeks and Romans.

In truth, Janus had been more interested in interacting with other parts of the world, particularly East Asia and North America. It was there that he loved and had children who often got into a lot of trouble. Over time, after some of the people of the Black Court decided to teach him about humor, he came to be associated with certain types of canines and he had to admit that the reputation he had in certain stories like the ones of the Navajo was not completely unmerited. He may have gone a little overboard with one experiment or another… which meant that, in the end, mad science was very much in his portfolio.

"Fascinating," he said as his own computer deciphered an enchantment circle that would be drawn in the near future. "Hmm… many things will depend on how Sineya reacts. Well, I suppose I can meddle a little bit. It won't be the first time I put some fun in a Slayer dream."

He took a slice of cheese on a nearby plate and munched on it, smiling as he put his own plan together…

* * *

"Buffy, are you really sure you want to go with your plan?" asked Philippe. "You know this is risky."

"I do, Grand-Papa but… I've seen Uncle Jacques' reports. Normal Slayers last a year on average. The lightning rod thing just keeps throwing trouble at them and… their luck can only last for so long."

"Maybe you'll be different."

"I will be different, because I will take matters into my own hands now. The only risk factor in my plan is how much the Slayer itself will fight against me and I think I found a solution for that. She's sentient and between Uncle Jacque's info and how she behaves in my virtual world, I know enough to push her buttons. I am confident that I can convince her to go along with my plan but I have to prepare her… Mom, Dad, how long to draw the circle?"

"Roughly one hour and going through the whole enchantment program will take eight more hours," replied Joyce.

Buffy looked around. It was clear that none of them liked it but they had all weighed the risks. They had faith in their science and they knew they could pull it off.

"Then we are decided," she said, grinning. "Dad, can you start with the drawing? Mom, I will need to go into deep meditation for this, so…"

"I'll ensure delicate transport when the time comes," she replied.

"Monsieur, thank you for your help," she added, turning toward the Count. "Grand-Papa…"

"I'm taking the next plane. What you will do will tap in the local ley lines. It will not go unnoticed."

"Uncle Jacques put his own agents on alert," said Joyce.

"Dawn," said Buffy, "I'm going to put the Slayer as a sixth player in the campaign I had you play last fall. Can you explain…"

"Put her through the meat grinder, big sis, I'll take care of the rest," replied Dawn with a smirk.

"Thanks, Dawn," replied the teen as she sat again in the lotus position.

"Okay," said Dawn. "One thing Buffy and I noticed in the reports is that the Slayer is definitely not a team player. The Watchers always train her to work alone or with just one Field Watcher. Even then, the Watcher normally stays behind to search for info in books. There is also that creepy speech about the one girl in all the world with the strength to fight vampires. That's complete bu… nonsense," she corrected just in time as she saw one of her mother's eyebrow starting to rise. "I mean, suppose we're in the Antiquity and the Slayer is in Rome. Unless the Watchers have some teleportation magic they managed to hide from everybody, there is no way she could arrive in time if something happens in China or in America. Buffy and I think it's all something the Watchers do to have the Slayer believe she's so special she has to die for others."

"I can confirm this line of thought," said the Count. "I would also add that while teleportation magic is possible, it is certainly not an easy art. What does your sister intend to do?"

"The campaign we went through… Monsieur, do you know what roleplaying games are?" she asked, turning toward the Count's screen.

"I am afraid not, Dawn."

"Okay… it's part board game and part improvised theater. One of the players is the gamemaster, a little like the narrator in a tale. He controls the bad guys of the story and tells the other players how they react. The board game part is about rules to decide if something works or not. Buffy put us through a 'story' where there was just no way to win if you played solo. She also made sure we enjoyed some downtime 'scenes', making us really feel like if we were living the lives of our characters. I think Buffy wants to remind the Slayer what it means to be human."

* * *

Sineya swore as she nearly cut her foot – again – on broken glass. She needed something to wrap… she stopped as she considered the content of the ruined building she was in. It was some kind of shop and… yes, what she needed was here. Sneaking carefully, she started to check the various pair of shoes, finally settling on a pair of sturdy combat boots. As she put them on, she felt a little strange. While her hosts had worn many different kind of shoes, she never did, either in her original life or in her various manifestations inside her hosts' minds.

A few… was it hours? She didn't know. Like everything else, she wasn't in control of that aspect here. The mind she was facing was too sharp, too quick, almost alien. What was important was that the rules of that dream game had brutally changed. Before, it had been somewhat fun, the enemies Buffy threw at her clumsy despite their impressive weaponry. She had been confident that she would be able to wear down her new host's defenses. Not anymore.

First, the complexity of the dream had increased and it had been accompanied with a sharp feeling of reality. Broken glass hurt. That bullet grazing her hurt a lot. She felt the cold of that place called Seattle and she was hungry and thirsty. These were things… for so long she had only known them through her hosts. She had found them of little relevance… until now.

"Hey! You all right?"

Acting on reflex, she threw the knife she had managed to take from one of her adversaries, only to see it blocked by a huge arm made of steel and concrete, like if the building's wall had… she found the demon's eyes. Blue, electricity running through them. It was as if the building she was in had animated as if… it wasn't a demon. It just didn't feel the same but rather… neutral. Natural even. A rightful part of the world. Half-forgotten memories came to her and she remembered someone telling her about the spirits, others from one of her hosts about the genius loci.

"It's all right, she's just afraid," said the voice she identified as the one of a young girl.

The creature nodded slowly and removed its arm, revealing a teenage girl with auburn air. She was somewhat familiar, maybe resembling her host's little sister. Her dark red clothes looked a little like the ones worn by those demons she had met, something that looked like leather but was a lot sturdier, better even than a full chainmail. For her Slayer senses though… power. The girl was a witch and no rookie if she could summon so casually… no, not a witch. Other words came to her mind… among which was one used by the Watchers: shaman.

"One of my chummers told me there was some kind of idiot running into the middle of that little war the Rusted Stilettos and the Red Hot Nukes are having. So… tired of life?"

Sineya felt another presence, something ancient. The girl had noticed it too and was staring at… a pile of rubble. The First Slayer called on her senses, trying to see rather than just feel…

"Argh… okay, I will help her but it's just because you asked nicely," said the girl.

Sineya squinted, trying to… here it was. A faint outline. A fox? No, too big. Another memory rushing through from yet another host. Stories of the Apaches, stories about Coyote.

"Okay, so, to quote an old movie: come with me if you want to live. By the way, I'm Tiana, and you?"

"I am…"

She had been about to use the old mantra, to say she was destruction, absolute, alone. Except she didn't feel like it. She was shaking. For the first time in millennia she was feeling pain again and that pain had reawakened another feeling in her: fear. Fear as it echoed the statement of the girl. Could she die here? What she was sure of was that here she wasn't absolute. Here she wasn't in her territory.

"Sineya," she finally said, deciding to use her old name.

* * *

"Did anyone get the number of the bus that hit me?" asked Faith as she rose, rubbing her temples.

They had still been watching the dream Sineya was in, trying to determine what was happening when everything just… overloaded and they had been thrown against the wall by something… something that was still operating given the ghostly white lightning arcs dancing on the surface of the water around the Scythe.

"My scrying spell interfered with something pumping a lot of power," said Nefer, rising too and massaging her neck.

"It sure did," said Janus from the entrance. "I advise against trying to reestablish it. The situation is delicate."

"Buffy is fighting the Slayer?" asked Faith.

"In a very unusual way," replied the god. "Now I need your help. We have to isolate the Scythe so that it's not affected by what's happening on Earth. It could be bad for all the Slayers that are here in the Venusberg."

 _That and it will deprive Sineya of a lot of her power reserves,_ thought the god also known as Coyote the Trickster as he explained them how to set up the machines in the shrine. _It's up to you now, Buffy. Make me proud._

* * *

Sineya was looking at her reflection with bewildered eyes. True, she hadn't looked at her own face for a long time but she was sure that she wasn't supposed to look like that. The skin was all right, maybe even a little darker than it used to be but it wasn't shocking. Her hair was the same tangled mess and her clothes, shoes excepted, were the same rags as usual.

Her traits though… after that doctor friend of Tiana had told her to wash her face clean of the white war paint she had worn for so long. They were too fine and she was too tall, maybe six feet now. Shaking, she let her hand run on the thing that summarized everything that was wrong with her body. Her ears were pointed.

"You look surprised," said Tiana.

"Weren't like this," she replied.

"Xav," asked Tiana to a man currently looking at the display of some complicated machine. "Goblinization doesn't make elves, right?"

"What…"

"I would rather say that there are no known cases. Nobody really knows how it works," cut in the street doc. "Miss, physically you're good. You heal faster than some trolls I know, maybe thanks to your magical abilities."

She vaguely nodded. She remembered Tiana saying something about her being a physical adept after she used her Slayer strength and agility.

"What is goblinization?" she asked.

"I was about to talk about a possible memory problem. Looks like it's confirmed. The correct scientific term is Unexplained Genetic Expression, UGE for short. Since the Awakening – the return of magic in 2011 – people have been expressing traits from species that used to be legendary. For elves like you, it normally happens at birth. Goblinization is slang used for when the result is an ork or a troll and for them it often happens later. Now, you may just not remember or maybe you were in some freak accident."

They soon left the place and Sineya looked at herself once again in the reflection of a large window. Another point that was different. She wasn't using her feral crouch but stood straighter, maybe a consequence of how the shoes were holding her ankles. She looked at Tiana then and wondered how long she would have lasted if the teenage shaman had not found her.

"Tiana, these are… new hunting grounds. I need a guide. Will you help me more?"

"Hmm… I'm not big on charity but you're not the average newbie. Come with me. I'll have you meet a few chummers and if they like you… then I think we will be able to come up with something. By the way, those gangbangers weren't demons, just orks. They're people like you and me."

"Why… the black in them. Like if part of aura was dead."

"Okay… this is going to need work. You felt cyberware. They had machines inside their bodies to give them better reflexes, better strength, etc. I have a few too but a lot less. It doesn't mix well with magic."

* * *

"Sineya, soykaf?" asked Shiro.

"Yes, thanks," she replied as the troll handed her a fuming plastic cup.

She let the heat of the soybean pseudo-coffee warm her hands. Seattle was cold in winter, far colder than her homeland. She remembered it now, remembered her family, remembered being a simple farm girl before the sorcerers came. Her parents tried to resist but…

She felt a huge arm wrap around her and basked in the embrace. The fact the being near her was a nearly nine feet tall brick house with horns, short tusks and dermal plates didn't matter anymore. Shiro acted as a big brother for the whole team, the one you could speak to about your problems. From what he had told her, he had thought about becoming a Shinto priest but… goblinization hit him and changed him into a troll. He had been lucky enough to stay sane, which also meant he had remembered how Japan treated metahumans and had the common sense to leave his native country.

She had no idea how much time had passed in the real world. All what she knew was that she had been stuck in this dream for six months now. Six months since she joined Tiana's friends. She had done her best to be humble, trying to use the memories of her hosts to better fit in but… the more time she spent here and the fuzzier they became, while the memories of her own human life, before the Slayer, became sharper, as were the memories of this dream world. In a way, she was more and more Sineya and less and less the First Slayer.

She had learnt a lot here, with all of them. Tiana and a young elven woman that went by the name of Nightcrash had made it their mission to teach her about fashion and how to behave like a modern girl. They had dragged her almost kicking and screaming for a spa and hair stylist day after she proved that she would not get the whole of them killed by taking part in a simple run and not messing up. Later, as she felt the silky texture of her raven hair and saw how well her new armored clothes fit her, she had felt something very old resurfacing. For the first time in millennia, she had felt pretty.

Nightcrash had also taught her about the elves of this world, the nations they had set up since the Awakening and some of the people she knew there. Sineya had been told about computers, the Matrix and how deckers like Nightcrash could send their mind into it. Understanding on the other hand… she of course knew the value of research. The fact that the right information could mean the difference between life and death was nothing new to her. The problem was grasping the implications of the methods Nightcrash used to obtain that information, how much computers were a part of the modern world. Sineya often stuck with another member of the team called Percy when the modernity of the dream world unsettled her. True, the mage used magical methods that had little to do with what she knew but his classy British demeanor was a comfortable zone as it reminded her of her hosts' Watchers.

As for the two other members of the team… Cash had made sure she knew the ins and outs of the shadows. As the one usually negotiating the contracts, the bald ex-cop had taught her a lot on how to charm her way to obtaining the information she needed. Finally, Shiro had been the one to teach her about modern weaponry which forced her to revise a lot of her ways of fighting.

 _I am Destruction. Absolute. Alone…_ the old mantra. It felt so hollow now! Alone… there was just no way she would have survived alone! She now had a fair idea of Buffy's goal. This whole dream… it was more like a vision quest. Buffy was forcing her to relearn things she had forgotten. She was forcing her to be human again, to have wants and needs far beyond the ones of the Slayer.

 _And it's working… the mere idea of going back to my old feral self is scaring me now._

"Better get ready," she said as she noticed movement in the building they had been watching. "Looks like the Yaks are moving."

It was another thing that had changed. While running the shadows, she had learnt two important things. The first was that this world was a lot more complex than the white and black the Watchers often explained to her hosts. She had learnt to appreciate the shades of grey and to judge people on how they acted. The second was that a girl had to support herself. She knew that many of the runs she had done were very questionable morally speaking but the Slayer stuff she did during some of her free time needed resources.

 _Well, no such problem for this one,_ she thought as she loaded her assault rifle with armor piercing bullets. Mr. Johnson – as was usually called an anonymous intermediary setting up a shadowrunning contract – had hired them to kill a drug trafficking operation. From what Nightcrash and Cash had uncovered, there were many layers to it of course, which boiled down to a three-way influence war inside a Yakuza organization. They were here to break the alliance between two of the factions so that the third one could reap the benefits. Sineya was mostly thinking about the thermite Cash had brought for this mission and how they would make sure a large quantity of drugs would never find its way to the streets. It wasn't their fault if their employer omitted to specify a few details, neh?

 _This run is going to be sooo satisfying…_

* * *

In the lab, Dawn, Joyce and Hank were trying to keep themselves busy so that they did not worry too much while monitoring Buffy. Both the computer and the enchantment circle were running at full gear now while the teenage girl floated above it, sustained by the large amounts of Vril gathered by the experiment.

The Count had to say goodbye but they kept him and Jacques informed of the situation. Berenger had said that given the situation, he would assign a permanent liaison agent to the family but that it would take some time to set up. As for Joyce's parents, Ariana would be there in twelve hours and Philippe a few days later.

Above the circle, Buffy was thinking that she had been very lucky about two things. The first was the completely illegal summer camp her uncle Markus had organized in Guiana with Jacque's complicity, a camp that involved weapon and explosives training and that all the Venturi kids over ten attended. Both of her favorite uncles knew that the world was a harsh place and that they needed to be able to defend themselves. The tiny little issue some may have had with it was Markus von Schlesien's definition of defend. Being a commando instructor, for him it meant destroying the menace before it had a chance to hurt – or, even better, notice – you.

Still, it had helped Buffy immensely to make her dream world more believable, particularly thanks to the second thing. The Slayer had some kind of photographic reflexes ability that made her able to learn anything combat-related very quickly. Buffy had used it to create a synergy between her own memories and the host memories Sineya had. This had allowed her to give the First Slayer the illusion that months had passed. Sineya hadn't realized that she was making up the details from the script Buffy fed her and that only a few key moments were 'real'.

Buffy stirred a little bit. The endgame was near…

* * *

 _I hate spiders,_ thought Sineya as she emptied another clip of her faithful AK-97 into the arachnid abominations that tried to reach the missile silo part of the old bunker. Shiro, Percy, Cash and her were holding the line, doing their best so that Tiana and Nightcrash had time to finish their work.

Fighting against demons such as Rachnei's spidery minions was normal Slayer duty as far as she was concerned but everything else was different. First, she knew that she was but one of the many runners Sam Verner had gathered to fight against a horror that was – in her opinion – an Old One of some kind.

Neither was she at the heart of things, just part of one of the teams who had to prevent Rachnei from getting her pedipalps on several nuclear weapons. No doomsday mystic artefacts like the one she was used to during the multiple crises her hosts had prevented while working for the Watchers. Just mundane technology… except that Percy had explained her how electromagnetic pulses and radiations could have an effect on the Astral Plane. Sineya really, really hoped that this was only true in the dreamworld.

Seeing a large group rushing in the corridor, she reloaded while Shiro used his assault canon to stop them. In her months of operations here, she had been very seriously weaned off of the dislike for modern weapons the Watchers tended to instill in Slayers. Just like the idea of working solo had been literally beaten out of her.

 _A Watcher-raised Slayer, even the best ones like Nikki… unless she adapts like I did… dead in two days at most. Running the shadows is a whole different game._

"Finished!" yelled Tiana.

"Armed," said Cash while finishing programming the detonator on the explosives set around the silo's door.

She and Shiro started to spray the corridor while Percy gathered mana for another fireball, trying to ignore the wound on his arm. They all moved toward their exit point, timing their retreat so that the creatures would be in the explosives' area just at the right moment…

Sineya suddenly saw the old bunker dissolve around her, replaced by… space. She was standing in a space station and noted that the décor had a different feeling from the various places she had been in in the dreamworld. She started to move, shouldering her rifle, on the alert for any danger. There was nobody around… except for one silhouette she could see leaning on the rail in front of a big viewing bay, with the Earth behind her.

"So, we meet at last," said Sineya, lowering her AK-97.

"Yep," replied Buffy as she moved so that her face could be seen in the room's light. "I suppose you have a lot of questions."

"That's… usually the other way around, but yes," replied the Slayer with a little laugh.

"I suppose that usually, you do not reply."

"Not really… before I came in your body… it was not that I was not caring. I was just not able to care. There was just the thrill of combat, the now."

"Like an animal."

"Before, I would have attacked you for that. You forced me to see the truth, Buffy. You forced me to be human again."

"Do you hate me for that?"

"At some point I did. Being human, or elf," she said while tapping her left ear with her index, "is complicated. You have to remember things. Like how the Shadow Men killed my family when they tried to prevent them from taking me away. What they did to me to make sure I was broken enough not to resist the ritual. But I realized that… sure, being lost in the moment like I was, it's easy. It's comfortable. But it's not life. To really live, you need to build your future with the bricks of your past."

"Getting philosophical?" asked Buffy with a smirk.

"Hung out with Shiro way too much if you get my drift," she replied, mirroring her smirk. "So… first question, why making me an elf?"

"At first because it's how I saw you, ancient and inscrutable. Well, some of the elves in the Shadowrun world are immortals, so I subconsciously slapped the ears on your representation here. As this… story progressed, as I realized you were a victim just like I was, it became more. The whole problem in the end is not the Slayer but rather what some people think the Slayer should be… when we will reach the end of this conversation, I will make you a proposal. But first, let's get your other questions out of the way."

"I can get why you tried something. Most of my hosts hated the Slayer destiny at one point or another. But your reasons are more than just 'I want my life back', right?"

"I don't know how things would have been if I had been some ordinary teenager. Sometimes, I have nightmares about being a cheerleader… anyway, the truth I cannot escape is that I am not what most people would call human. Dad excepted, all of my family are metahumans and… you could say we're mad scientists. Even Dad… the 'for Science!' attitude rubbed off on him quite nicely. I had classes on many subjects, to make sure I was not bored and that I would be ready to face the world. Among other things, my parents and my Uncle Jacques had tutors teaching me about the supernatural."

"You know that your uncle killed one of my hosts?" she immediately asked back while observing the teen's reaction with great interest.

"Yes, he sent me the report about it and the file had a sticky note about how much he regretted it, but had no choice at the time. I understand his reasons. Had he not killed Lisbeth and the Watchers with her, they would have destroyed a 'demon' without thinking about how necessary its presence was for Indochina. The Watchers would have made the war longer, maybe even created another conflict later, depending on what the US and the communists would have done after France bailed out. Tell me Sineya, you worked with them for centuries. Do you think the Watchers would have cared about that?"

"No," replied the First Slayer after a while. "It's not supernatural, so it's not their business. It's blurry but I think that similar things happened earlier. I cannot say when and what the consequences were."

"One thing I realized between the reports and by observing you in the Shadowrun world is that as long as you exist, the Watchers have no reason to change. The way you hop from host to host, the idea that there will always be a Slayer, it's very bad for them. One of the reports I have seen imply that the Watchers are more likely to blame the Slayer rather than themselves in case of failure. They need a shock if we want them to join the modern world."

"Like the one you gave me by making me live this year in your dream world… and I bet that this shock is to destroy the Slayer, or rather destroy the Slayer they know. That's why you wanted me sane enough to be scared of going back… to what I was."

"Yes… you see; I have several reasons to like the Shadowrun world. It's true it has its crappy sides but it's a world where I wouldn't have to hide. Alchemist in training? Sure, come get your magic degree in our college. Metahuman? No problem in most places."

Sineya had been trying to decipher Buffy's expressions since the beginning. It was harder than usual because Buffy herself was something new, a representative of a new offshoot of humanity… or maybe a very old one, pretty much like the elves, dwarves, orks and trolls in the Shadowrun world. Had she been human… maybe she would have been the kind to downplay her own intelligence, to make people underestimate her. It was a common tactic among Slayers who lured demons by playing the damsel in distress. Not for this girl. Buffy knew that her capacities in some domains were beyond what humans could hope to achieve. She did her best not to rub it too hard in people's faces but she would never play dumb.

 _No definitely not,_ she thought as she had a look at Buffy's t-shirt. The inscription on it stated proudly: 'Fools! I will destroy you all! (Ask me how)'.

"You think it's coming for the real world. The Awakening, the Sixth World. Magic being public," she said, several hunches combining in an instant of clarity.

"According to my uncle's analysts, it's a matter of years now, two decades at most. For his people, the urgent question has become: will we be ready to handle it?"

"And you think the Watchers aren't."

"No, they are not. I have no illusions: The Awakening is going to hurt. Maybe not to the point it did in the Shadowrun world, but fire and war are very likely to be on the menu. Now, thanks to you, we have an opportunity to make a difference. Together, we can force one of this planet's oldest occult organizations to shape up for what is to come."

"Let's say I agree to your plan, what will happen to the two of us?"

"I will be a Slayer 2.0. Updated specs, pretty much how you evolved in the Shadowrun world though my skills will be different. You're a physical adept and me… I haven't decided yet. No more girl hopping but I included a function that will allow me to 'sire' new Slayers through a Vril – or Essence to use the Shadowrun word you are probably more familiar with now – transfusion. This process will be a conscious, voluntary choice for both me and the candidate. As for you… as letting you stay in my head is out of the question, that leaves us two choices. First, you can die."

Buffy saw the fear on Sineya's face. It was something she had expected, after all this virtual time spent to make her enjoy life again. This meant that the First Slayer was ripe for listening to her offer.

"No… and I'm not even sure I have enough of a soul left to really die," she said while strangling a sob. "What's behind door number two?"

Buffy smiled as she took Sineya's hand.

"To quote one of my Dad's favorite shows: we can rebuild you. We have the technology," she replied, her smile becoming mischievous. "Let me tell you a little bit about my Grand-Maman's chef-d'oeuvre…"

* * *

Joyce frowned. The whole situation, the way her levitating daughter was leaning and the robotic arm coming to meet her extended hand, it looked very familiar to her… of course it was. Back in Caltech, her bestie Marlene Carrington had hung a very similar scene with a human and a robot in their dorm room. A scene that was itself mimicking a famous painting by Michelangelo.

 _She couldn't…_

Vril erupted from Buffy, white radiance appearing first as a spark in the place her right forefinger nearly met the robotic manipulator. Rushing forward, huge, draining the ley lines the enchantment circle had been tapping, running through the wires until it reached the central computer.

"What's happening with the computer?" yelled Joyce as she caught her falling daughter in a kind telekinetic embrace.

"This experimental AI module we toyed with… it's recompiling itself and I have terabytes of data coming out of nowhere busy structuring themselves in the holographic banks," replied Hank.

WHERE… IS THIS THE MATRIX? IT FEELS LIKE THAT TIME NIGHTCRASH TOOK ME WITH HER

He looked at the screen where the words had just appeared. The feed was coming straight from the AI module. He turned around to look at his elder daughter who was now resting in her mother's lap and looked awfully pale. He saw the way Joyce had her hands on Buffy's chest and he knew what she was doing. It was an instinctive skill for Vril-users: how to transfuse your own energy to another living being to help him heal. He caught his wife's eyes and the small nod of relief she gave him.

IS BUFFY ALL RIGHT? SHE SENT ME HERE SAYING TO TALK TO HER DAD

He turned back toward the computer, having heard the ping of a new message. He typed a few command lines and gave the AI module access to the computer's sound system. He hesitated briefly and decided he would wait to switch on the camera.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Wow… really feels like the voice from the sky above. I'm Sineya, the… originally, I was the First Slayer. When I died… with what I know now, I think that when I died, my personality was uploaded into the Slayer software, the thing that moves from girl to girl. Right now… looks like I'm just a ghost in the machine, right?"

"You're installed into an experimental AI module my wife and I were working on," he replied. "You… completed it quite nicely."

"Dad," said Dawn. "Is that…"

"Tiana, is that you?" asked Sineya. "Your voice… got it. It was one big simsense game and Buffy based some characters on real people. Pity… I really liked her, it was like having a little sister. Can you switch on something so that I can see outside? It's rather bleak in there."

"Before I do," replied Hank. "What did you do to Buffy?"

"I was really not the one in control back in her head," replied Sineya with a derisive laugh. "After she made sure I was sane enough to understand what she was doing and why, she gave me a choice. I was not too keen on dying so I took door number two."

Hank finished to type some commands and made a small gesture toward the camera of the video system.

"Thanks a lot," said Sineya. "You even look like her… just younger."

"Tiana was my character in a game I played with Buffy," said Dawn. "If you liked her… I'm Dawn, wanna be chummers?"

"Give me a little time Dawn. I spent a full year running the shadows and…"

"You don't trust easily, got it. So you chose to become an AI?"

"Buffy said… she said she was quoting one of her Dad's favorite shows. She said: 'We can rebuild you. We have the technology.' She said she would ask her grandma to make an elf for me but that it would take some time and that I would have to wait in here… is Buffy all right? She… she gave me a lot of her essence, said that a soul was in the end just Vril and data as I had only the second, she would give me the first."

"She is weak," said Joyce in a tired voice. "But she will recover. Maman will look at her more thoroughly once she is here."

* * *

Hank looked anxiously inside the lab that was fully bathed in white, ghostly radiance. Ariana had arrived mere moments before and, once told of the situation, strode directly at Buffy's side before shooing everybody out.

It wasn't so much to give Buffy some space as for their own protection. The problem was what she was using to restore Buffy's dangerously low level of energy. If you didn't pay too much attention it looked innocuous enough: an engraved, grey metal cube around a foot high. Once open though… the unnatural white light coming out of the cube was enough to make him keep his distance.

"What is that thing?" he asked Joyce.

"An Alteran, Vril-based medical device. I think the Count gave it to Maman but I have no idea where he found it. What I know is that it needs a Vril-user operator to be used without risk. By itself… it has a basic program that accelerates natural healing for Alterans but this same program makes it problematic for use on us hybrids or on humans."

"What can happen?" asked Dawn.

"Cancers mostly. If you leave it long enough near a corpse… it's zombie time."

"Dawn…" said Hank, noticing the mischief in his daughter's eyes.

"Yes, Dad… no killing the neighbors' cat to see if I can reanimate it," replied the little girl with a pout.

* * *

 _ **Author notes:**_ _short summary of the five shadowrunners played by Buffy's gaming group._

 _ **Nightcrash (Kim Hannah):**_ _female elf decker. Lived a sheltered childhood in Tir Tairngire. Her forays into the Matrix left her longing for some excitement. More or less disowned, she became a shadowrunner both to live interesting moments and to support herself._

 _ **Tiana (Dawn):**_ _female human urban shaman (Coyote) with cat burglar tendencies. Lived on the streets for most of her life, surviving thanks to her 'imaginary' friends (in fact spirits). Favorite quote: "closed doors rarely stop me, you know."_

 _ **Cash (Billy Fordham):**_ _male human. Ex-Lone Star officer with a lot of contacts. Usually the one finding the contracts._

 _ **Shiro (Mark Male player 2):**_ _male Troll Street Samurai. Without surprise the group's heavy weapons expert._

 _ **Percy Holloway (Male player 3):**_ _male ex-corporate mage. Used to work in magical research before an experiment went wrong and his bosses decided to sterilize the research center. He was saved by the other players and, being officially dead, became a shadowrunner._


	6. Chapter 6

_Author notes: Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. I'm afraid that my muse was on strike for a while._

 _Thanks to all the people who took time to review this story or mark it as a favorite. Special thanks to Narsil for betaing this chapter._

 _Disclaimer: see chapter 1_

 _ **Rating:**_ _FR18_

* * *

 **Los Angeles, Wednesday 15 May 1996**

Ariana had been frowning a lot since she arrived in Los Angeles. First, she had to cater to the consequences of Buffy's way of dealing with the Slayer problem. Her granddaughter had spent a large amount of her own Vril to make sure Sineya would be transferred without damage inside the computer. It had been enough to send the teen into a coma but not as reckless a move as one may think. Buffy knew that her mother and sister could transfuse small amounts of their Vril to help her recover and calculated the energy she gave Sineya accordingly.

This led her to another consequence, dealing with Sineya herself. This was why, after using the healing device on her granddaughter, she had sat in front of the terminal and spoken with the First Slayer. All in all, she had come to what she thought was also Buffy's conclusion: Sineya was a victim too. She had been stuck in an ancient trap until Buffy freed her.

 _Thankfully I made a lot of progress on integrating Vril abilities during the last decades…_

"I can do what Buffy promised you, but it will take roughly a year to organize," said Ariana.

"You don't have any… off-the-shelf body?"

"Contrarily to what some of my grandchildren may find 'cool', I am not cloning an army in my volcano lair. I do have a cloning facility and I have been doing experiments to refine various parts of my techniques, but creating intelligent life is not something to be done lightly."

"While it is inconvenient for me, I am glad to hear it."

"Good. Your body needs to be a custom job anyway, both for aesthetic reasons and to make sure that the Slayer abilities are installed correctly into it when we upload your soul. Do not worry, the ritual Buffy went through gave me all the necessary data."

"I have a question if you don't mind. What made you create the 'elves'?"

Ariana looked at the face on the screen, wondering how much she could tell the First Slayer.

"I won't pretend you don't have a right to know, particularly as you will be 'wearing' an 'elven' body… but this is a family secret and there is something I must ask beforehand. What are your intentions regarding my family and Buffy in particular?"

"Well… on the practical side, Buffy will need help with the Slayer stuff and even if I'm a little limited right now, I can still offer advice and moral support. Further than that… I want to try to be friends with your family. I know some may resent me because of the Slayer but I had no more control over that than Buffy did. I don't even know how the spell used to choose which Potential was next."

"You seem sincere," replied Ariana after she pondered the girl's words for a while. "You will probably have to convince Joyce as well but I am willing to give you a chance. To reply to your question…a very long time ago, my people were at war with those you would call the Old Ones. We were losing, in part because my people… well, we suck at warfare to speak like Buffy. My government asked me to create warriors, so I created the Argyreas."

"What was the problem with them?"

"Very perceptive of you. Are you familiar with World War Two?"

"Yes. The memories of my past hosts are easier to access now that I am uploaded in the Matrix… each in their own clearly labeled folder."

"Good… and this will be very helpful for Buffy. My people and the German engineers of the time have the same issue: we over-engineer things. For the Germans, it meant things like the Tiger tank: a very good weapon by itself but also a maintenance nightmare that consumed far too many resources to be produced and kept operational. In the case of the Argyreas, it meant that I didn't create disposable shock troops but a fully functional, intelligent species. At first, my government disregarded this given the results in the field but it soon appeared that it was already too late. The war was lost and the Argyreas became a liability."

"They asked you to destroy them."

"Yes. It was then that I committed treason by helping my children to flee. My punishment for it was to be left stranded on Earth when my people flew away."

"Did they survive?"

"I don't know, but I hope so."

* * *

Buffy was – by her grandmother's orders – resting in her bed. She was authorized to watch some TV or read but that was it. She had currently chosen the former and had some anime playing on her laptop while, in the corner of the screen, a small window displayed Sineya's face.

"I should have realized that you speak Japanese," said the First Slayer who was watching the same anime from her virtual reality. "After all, the Yakuza in the dream spoke it correctly."

"That's thanks to my other grandmother, Achiko-baachan."

"Hank is…"

"No, we don't get along with Dad's family. They have very… let's say traditional ideas about a woman's place, to stay polite. Strictly speaking, Achiko-baachan is Grand-Maman's best friend and her son married my aunt Andromeda. It doesn't matter. She cares for me like a real grandmother."

"Hence the anime in original version. Why this one, though? Shouldn't it be…"

"Yeah, it is," cut in Buffy. "But just like the heroes, it doesn't mean I can't make the most of the sucky situation I'm in."

Sineya nodded. In this anime called Final Fantasy, the heroes had been cursed by an entity called a Fal'Cie. The curse granted them powers but there was a huge catch. From what she had seen so far, the Fal'Cie had also given them a Focus, a task they had to accomplish in a limited time. Should they fail, they would become some kind of mindless undead.

"So you feel a kinship with this Lightning woman?" she asked, looking at the show's main protagonist on the screen as she tore through a squad of soldiers.

"Hope I'm not as bitter as her…"

Sineya could almost hear the unvoiced 'yet'. She could guess what was gnawing at the newest Slayer. Contrarily to many of her predecessors, she had a family that would understand and support her. While it gave her something tangible to fight for, it also painted huge targets on her family and friends.

 _And in the anime, Lightning had lost her parents and seen her little sister turned into a crystal statue… time to change topics._

"Okay, let's talk about something funnier. What do you think of her weapon?"

"The gunblade? Rather…"

Sineya raised an amused eyebrow as she looked at Buffy's face. She remembered seeing such an expression on some Watchers who got really enthusiastic about research.

"You know, I know a thing or two about weapon design, particularly for things like swords. I also think that a gunblade like the Blazefire Saber would be a fine Slayer weapon. So, what do you say?"

"I say… well, I think I see how to make the sword part work but I see no way to cram the gun into… drat! Sorry, but we will have to wait for tomorrow to get all giddy at the thought of weapon design. Mom or Grand-Maman would drag me back to bed _manu militari_ if I did anything more than a trip to the bathroom today. So I say let's sleep on it and we'll make tomorrow a glorious day for science."

"Agreed. Rest well, Buffy."

"Good night, Sineya."

The teenage girl cut the connection and put her laptop away. She switched off the light and easily drifted into sleep.

* * *

 **Paris, Wednesday 15 May 1996**

"Come in," said Jacques Berenger as he heard someone knocking on his office's door.

He looked at the man who had just entered. He remembered the first time he met him, two years ago. He had been a young man whose illusions had just been shattered. A scholar who had just realized the rigid traditions he had been raised in were ill-suited to the modern world. Of course, Jacques had helped him to change that, among other things by sending him to a little 'summer camp' the Légion Etrangère organized for Bureau agents near Cayenne.

"Sir," said the man as he sat in the chair in front of Berenger.

"Wesley, I will get straight to the point," replied Jacques. "My goddaughter Buffy Summers-Venturi has been called as the Slayer."

"Bloody hell," replied the Englishman.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce pinched the bridge of his nose. He remembered the reason why he resigned… no, why he defected from the Watchers, joining the Bureau. He had been a junior member sent to help on some research with a case the then Slayer, a nice girl called Tarja, was handling. The girl got slaughtered because they fucked up with the intel, sending her with only an axe against a full platoon of demons with automatic firearms and some modicum of military training, all courtesy of some human mercenaries.

The way the senior Watcher on the case had rejected all responsibility had been the proverbial straw for him and defection the only possible choice if he wanted to still be able to live with himself. He had quickly taken another mission in Africa and officially disappeared in the bush, presumed dead. In fact, he had simply made his way to Dakar and knocked at the door of the Senegalese branch of the Bureau. Of course, there had been caution. While sympathetic to his reasons to defect, the Bureau had to make sure he was not a plant. So he had worked hard to integrate and gain their trust.

He had been in for a hell of a culture shock. The Watchers had functioned as a secret society for millennia. They had influence on some governments but were never a part of one. The Bureau was not only a French governmental service but was also backing this choice philosophically. Part of it was the old 'who watches the Watchers?' argument. To be fair, the Watchers had their reasons. They had seen kingdoms rise and fall and knew that things would always go sour. The Bureau did not deny that point but said that another event would make it irrelevant. That event was the Reveal.

That particular topic was sometimes discussed among the Watchers, but always as some kind of mental exercise done to amuse oneself late in the evening. No Watcher wanted to think seriously about the possibility. The Reveal would mean that many of the traditions that allowed them to survive through the ages would become obsolete. On the other hand, the Bureau had been founded on the idea that the Reveal was inevitable, that the modern world would have to cope with the supernatural being public. The questions the Bureau had tried to answer in the last decades were 'when will it happen?' and 'how do we prevent society from collapsing when it does?'. Berenger had known that the Bureau would need law enforcement authority and for that it needed to be a part of the French government.

Wesley had gone through the data the Bureau gathered, studied the statistical models and other scientific analyses and he could only agree with the French conclusion: The Reveal was nigh. What happened to Tarja two years ago was but a symptom of the coming change.

"This… does the Inner Council know of her link with the Bureau?"

Wesley knew that even if, in appearance, the Bureau and the Watchers were ignoring each other, the truth was different. Intrusions in each other's territory were ruthlessly dealt with and there were intelligence assets in place on both sides. The more extensive contact network of the Watchers was counterbalanced by the Bureau's superior mastery of modern technology and what was sometimes jokingly called 'inhuman resources', the various meta Bureau agents.

"Not yet. At this point, they know that the current Slayer is not one of those they have indoctrinated and they are looking for her."

"The normal procedure means they will need two weeks to locate her and get the information reviewed. Red flags will make them move faster though."

"True. The public records will show that Buffy's mother is a Physics Nobel Prize winner and that she has a sister working for the French military. The risk of public exposure will force them to exert at least a little caution when the red flags come up. The link to the Bureau is probably not the first one that will be raised, though. One of the senior Watchers, maybe your father, will soon start wondering about the name Venturi."

"Venturi… the alchemists?" he asked, remembering some of the stories his father had told him.

"Yes, but there are other complications. You will be cleared for them if you accept the mission to be Buffy's 'Watcher'. My question is if I can trust you to assist Buffy and not try to control her as you have been trained to."

"You can trust me. I came here to find new solutions, not to repeat old mistakes. But any Watcher they send to her is likely to recognize me and consider me a rogue… is the intention to delay the discovery of the Bureau's involvement?"

"No, buying time is unnecessary and would prove counterproductive in the long run. Confrontation with the Council is unavoidable at this point. You know just like I do that the Council cannot even consider losing control of the Slayer. What I need is to have them understand that if they start this war, they will commit suicide."

Wesley nodded. He knew part of the strategy the Bureau would use in case of conflict with the Watchers. The sad truth was that the Watchers' attitude had brushed many of the governments aware of the supernatural the wrong way. Those barely tolerated the ancient society if they had no better alternative and were very happy to declare them persona non grata if they did. Berenger's people had spent years learning who was annoyed enough with them and had his service put together analyses of the meta community of each concerned country. If push came to shove, the Quai d'Orsay would simply offer those governments French expertise on how to set up their own Bureau. One of the biggest problems for the Watchers in that area, as their headquarters was on British soil, was that the MI-5 director was among those very annoyed people.

"So I suppose you will leak the information that I am a Bureau agent soon… any risk from the Americans?"

Jacques took a moment to think, sorting out the information in his mind, determining what he could disclose. The matter vas complex, finding its roots back in the mess of World War Two. Back then, the United States had an operation called the Demon Research Initiative. Theoretically created to counter whatever the Axis could cook up with the supernatural, they ended with a terrible reputation which made Truman bury the whole thing after the War. Given the messes he had to clean up in France and Germany in 45-46, Berenger knew first hand that this reputation was at least partly justified. According to some information exchanges he had with his Russian counterparts, what the DRI did there was even worse.

It all came down to the peculiar relationship the USSR had with its meta community. It had been in Russia that the Nazis had tested their supernatural weapons and this had provoked reactions. From what he had gotten, the whole Politburo had been surprised to see an old crone appearing in their secure conference room one day. The woman was none other than the Baba Yaga and she made a deal with them. The Russian metas would help defend the Rodina and in exchange, the communists would respect them and let them mostly police themselves. The big issue they had with the DRI was that the Americans had made no difference between the Nazis and Russian metas and this carelessness had contributed to the deterioration of East-West relationships after the War. Nowadays, the metas from USSR were running the supernatural branch of the KGB, under the direction of the Baba Yaga's adopted daughter Vasilisa.

 _Another thing that didn't happen like in the fairy tale…_

This was why when a new member of the US intelligence community called the NID started to disturb the DRI's ashes, KGB informants immediately relayed the information to Moscow. Knowing that they couldn't use it themselves without having the project's political backers in Washington scream 'communist conspiracy', the Russians had shared it with the French who made sure the FBI and the CIA knew not only what the NID omitted to tell them but also that the info was spread to most intelligence agencies with an interest in the supernatural.

"There is a new agency called the NID that has shown an interest with the supernatural," he finally said. "They should be neutralized for now and they are still amateurish in that field but some of their operations show a disturbing lack of morals. If Buffy asks about them, tell her they are like Cerberus in the Mass Effect show. We are keeping tabs on them and I will make sure you receive any relevant information on this topic. On a more directly practical matter, the Venturi have several escape plans they will brief you upon. There is one option I know they won't think about given their family's history with that place but that I want you to study with them: should the NID try something, Sunnydale would be the perfect place to get rid of them."

"Sunnydale… there is a portal there, right?"

"There is. Its most common name is the Hellmouth. The Mayor there is an immortal sorcerer playing a rather strange game that I suspect to be some variation of both sides against the middle. He has already employed the services of the Venturi family before the War to prevent the Order of Aurelius from gaining too much influence in the town. The current Venturi generation will probably be able to count on him. So… as this mission presents a lot of risks given the Watcher involvement, I will not hold it against you if you refuse it. I am offering it to you both because I know this is a chance for you to put some ghosts to rest and because you are the Bureau agent with the most knowledge about Slayers."

"I'm taking the mission," he replied, knowing he was in for a hell of a ride.

"Thank you. You're taking the shuttle to the IOH-2 in Charles de Gaulle tonight. Your equipment will follow using freight channels through Mexico in a week. The documentation you need is here," replied Jacques, handing him a pen drive, an _Air France_ ticket and a passport.

* * *

 **Sunnydale, Wednesday 15 May 1996**

 _What the fuck happened here?_

Diana had her reasons to stay far away from Sunnydale, given her history with the place. She remembered Hecate telling her that she would take care of that particular area and make sure everything went according to plan. As a Chthonian deity, she was better armed to deal with the darkness inherent in the Hellmouth without having things going wrong. It would also help if Diana didn't have to make any difficult decisions regarding Richard Wilkins, Mayor of Sunnydale.

That last argument had been the real reason why she had decided to let the Goddess of Witchcraft handle it. In the original timeline, Faith Lehane had very conflicted feelings about the Mayor. On one hand, he had been a big bad ready to sacrifice the town's population to reach his goals. On the other, she knew that he had genuinely cared for her, been there for her when Buffy and the other Scoobies were too deep into their own issues to see hers. As the years passed, she had realized that she was glad that the 'original' Buffy had put her into a coma before the Slayer's final showdown with the Mayor. It spared her from making a choice there would have been no redemption for.

Diana shifted her focus back to the present and started to list the things that were wrong. The most evident ones were of an urban nature. The Sunnydale she remembered had been in appearance something like your stereotypical Californian town. Standard accommodations, most streets at right angles, etc. If you looked a little deeper, you saw the things related to the high demonic and vampiric population, like the abandoned warehouses and double-digit number of churches and graveyards. Not this time.

For starters, the town she was walking through had an extensive light rail system. It was electric, completely automated with cameras both in the cars and at each stop. A little divine snooping had revealed a central computer controlling the whole thing at the depot but the cameras transmitted their data to both the police and City Hall. Another tiny detail had almost shocked her as she stood in one of the train stop's shelter. There was not one trashcan but several, all neatly labeled to help recycle things like paper, plastics and the like. Above them, an advertisement from City Hall to entice people to keep Sunnydale clean.

 _Well… I suppose it's not that out of character for him. He was quite obsessed with cleanliness._

A little bit later, as she stood in one of the permanent expositions of the Sunnydale Museum of Art and History, she was starting to understand where things diverged even if the why still eluded her. The exposition retraced city history which was all kinds of wrong compared to what she remembered. In the old timeline, Richard Wilkins' main modus operandi had been to keep people from looking too hard at things. Some of the elements were still there. The specialized glamour that made people find 'logical' explanations when they witnessed something supernatural was still there but the Mayor had played the 'immortal game' in a smarter way this time. From the list she was seeing, he had changed his face and identity every fifteen years or so.

 _His current one is still Richard Wilkins III but there is enough 'chaff' in the past to cover the fact the Mayor of Sunnydale always was the same person to any 'mundane' historian._

As for the reason the city didn't look like the one she remembered, the roots were in the 1937 earthquake that leveled over half the city between the event itself and its consequences like fires and cave-ins. When you read between the lines, it meant that the fight the Mayor and the Venturi clan waged against the Order of Aurelius at that point had been a lot more brutal than the original one, maybe because Philippe hadn't been here to help his family reach a decisive victory sooner.

The exposition described how the then Mayor had launched a bold program of public works to rebuild Sunnydale and make it a city its inhabitants would be proud of. The architect Frank Lloyd Wright could be seen in many of the pictures about the reconstruction, having jumped at the occasion of designing a whole city. This explained quite nicely the buildings in town and, knowing Wilkins, there were surely local laws about building permits that forced local constructions to fit with Wright's vision. Things had snowballed from that point, leading to the current, more prosperous Sunnydale.

 _But this raises another question: this version of Sunnydale cost a lot more money. Who paid? There seem to be a lot less empty warehouses too and it doesn't fit. Companies didn't stay long in the old city. You can only lose so many employees to the local 'fauna' before deciding to pack up and go away._

"Hecate," she muttered for herself. "What did you do?"

"I wondered when you would finally pay the town a visit," said a voice near her.

Of course it was her. She was clad in a human guise that made her look like an elderly Mediterranean woman in a rather conservative dress. She walked toward her, using an ebony cane to keep her weight off her right leg. It was an act of course. The cane was probably the mage staff the Goddess of Witchcraft was fond of carrying.

"There is a nice Lebanese restaurant with a very agreeable terrace not too far away. I think tea will help us to keep things civilized," continued the Chthonian as she took the direction of the museum's exit.

"Agreed but then I want complete explanations."

"And you will have them…"

They exchanged some pleasantries as they exited the Museum, exchanging news from their respective sides of the family. Hecate shared how much she disliked her daughter Scylla's latest boyfriend while Diana told some amusing anecdotes regarding Little Faith's education in the Venusberg. Venus had arranged with Pluto for her favorite poet – Publius Vergilius Maro, better known in the modern age as Virgil – to be the girl's main tutor. They soon found themselves sitting on wooden armchairs under a pergola while a waiter served them cinnamon tea in glasses. Diana waited a little bit while Hecate discreetly wove privacy charms.

"When we defined the Plan, we all knew that Sunnydale would be an important variable. So I decided to leave nothing to chance," started Hecate. "From your memories, I knew that Wilkins would be contacted by demons and offered a deal before he founded the town. I made sure the ones offering it were my proxies. The initial deal was the one you remember… don't make that face, you and I have both done worse than to condone a few human sacrifices."

"The worst is that you're right," replied Diana, taking a sip of her tea.

"At first, I made no change though other manipulations like what Minerva did with Philippe Venturi had consequences. The widespread destruction in 1937 forced me to step in. Poseidon's people provided me with the content of some sunken galleons and I used front companies to invest in Sunnydale. Thanks to the Hellmouth mucking up divination, my involvement stayed completely unnoticed but it allowed me to understand something. It had become clear that if I gave Wilkins a way out, he would take it."

"When I met him…"

"Yes, you felt the man's ambivalence," cut in Hecate. "I observed him before Sunnydale. He was vaguely aware of the supernatural then, dabbling in séances like many in this time. A shrewd businessman but not without decency. When the demons who had slaughtered his companions offered to spare him against a few services, he took the offer because he thought he could wiggle out of it later."

"It never works."

"I wouldn't say that. In this case, he was lucky that I had spun plans within plans. He played his role but I made overtures that allowed him to limit the damage done by Sunnydale's demon population. I taught him how to rejuvenate his body, changing his appearance in the process so that Sunnydale could afford to attract more attention. In exchange, he set up a few things for me that will move along the Plan. For example, the town's anniversary is on Halloween and Sunnydale will have centennial celebrations in 1997. He also had an idea to we will be able to make great use of."

"What kind of idea?"

"Well, Sunnydale does not celebrate Halloween in a traditional way. It is in fact… more similar to the Mardi Gras you see in New Orleans. There is a parade with floats, the construction of the various floats, costumes and the parade itself being a competition between teams of high schoolers. I expect the 1997 parade to make national news."

"Holy shit. You made sure things would spiral into complete madness."

"We are dealing with enormous energies. The presence of Yog-Sothoth's avatar – to use your amusing name for her – would already have ensured that things would have a much bigger impact than in the original timeline, even without my meddling. I am just removing some variables. All I have to do now is to engineer an incident that will push the Venturi to move there…"

"Buffy should soon face Lothos."

"Yes, an apt test, though I intend to give it a twist as she is far more prepared than your Buffy was. We wouldn't want things to be too boring, wouldn't we?"

* * *

 **Sunnydale, Thursday 16 May 1996**

Buffy was bored. It was a rather quiet day in the lab. Dawn was back in school and both of her parents had work-related things they needed to attend to. It meant it was just Ariana and her – she was officially still sick – plus Sineya being kinda here and offering some advice and moral support. Ariana had taken the occasion to conduct some tests and complete her specification files about the Slayer. For Buffy, it had meant mostly laying still on something resembling a dentist chair. Thankfully, she didn't have to stay silent and Sineya had been telling her things about the past Slayers to pass the time.

"Buffy, I have a question," said Sineya. "Back in the dream, you said that a soul was just Vril and data…"

"Really?" cut in Ariana with a smile.

"Well… I mean, given what you and Mom explained me about Vril theory…" replied the teenage Slayer.

"I am not disagreeing, Buffy," replied the Venturi matriarch, raising her head from the sensor she was checking. "It's just that it was a very Alteran thing to say."

"To be sure I understand everything correctly: this was not just Buffy making some simplification. Your people really have scientific data on how souls work?"

"Yes, we did," replied Ariana with a sigh. "For all the good it did us…"

"Does that have to do with those Ori you sometimes swear about?" asked Buffy.

"It does. For the sake of scientific clarity, let's make a break and I will tell you a… less than glorious bit of my people's history. One thing, though: while any true Alteran would have no problem with it, many people on Earth would not take it well, probably using words like heresy and blasphemy. Therefore, I want you two to be very cautious about spreading that information."

"Yes, Grand-Maman," replied Buffy, taking the occasion to get up and move a little while Sineya nodded on her screen.

"As Buffy already knows and snickered a lot about, the story of my people starts a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Back then, we were a relatively peaceful people. We had our share of wars but we had outgrown them when we reached the stars… or so we thought. A group of scientists had started to work on the concept of Vril, at first by finding the key to unlock psychokinetic abilities in some individuals.

"But, as our tools to detect Vril grew better, more disturbing things appeared. First, we discovered that the Vril of each person was uniquely modulated. While it was not surprising, tests made on pregnant women showed that the embryo's Vril was not independent, but developed out of the mother's Vril in a similar way to the baby's body. It gained complexity as the embryo grew and only fully separated with the cut of the umbilical… yes, Sineya, I can guess your question. This is a problem I had to solve to create the Argyreas ex utero. Without that… let's just say that obtaining stable bodies is a problem. To get back on topic, studies made at the other end of the chain showed how the Vril lost its modulation at death. To be clear, it was not a 'whisked away' thing, but a slow unraveling running in parallel to cellular death, particularly neurons.

"These studies led to several applications, one of them being the cube I used on Buffy. By restoring a person's Vril with energy pumped from the environment, it can heal the body. It can even resurrect the dead but if the brain is not reasonably intact… you obtain a zombie. Another application was that we discovered how to act on a person's Vril modulation and rewrite it. The 'nice' ability that came out of it is telepathy. The not-nice one…"

"Mind control," cut in Sineya. "To summarize, you found technological means to detect and modify souls… but some of the things I know go against what you just said."

"I know why and I will come to it later. For now, I will say that this was true in my people's home galaxy some millions years ago. Our people being… let's say nerdier on average than humans, those discoveries were made public without any particular care… and some people disagreed violently with the scientists' conclusions."

"For religious reasons?" asked Buffy.

"Not at first. At first the debate was simply moral and centered on the mental manipulations the technology made possible. Most people did not understand that a possible conclusion of the study was that souls were created during gestation and destroyed at death but it came. A group called the Ori used that idea, cultivating the fear it generated and used it to create a totalitarian state. My ancestors tried to fight it but they only saw the Ori gaining more and more control as the people became convinced Ori philosophy was right."

"Right about what?"

"Some of the scientists of the time had theorized that it was possible to have a person Vril's survive as an independent… let's call that a kind of energy ghost for lack of a better word. The Ori wrapped this idea in their rituals, calling it Ascension and created a religion controlled by their leaders. Nobody had any serious idea of how to really do it at that point but it didn't prevent people from believing. At that point, my ancestors decided to go into exile as they realized that the only option they had left to fight the Ori was to become terrorists which went against their principles. The idea of Ascension was not forgotten though and, in my time, some tried to work on it again, but did not manage to make significant progress."

"Until Saturn," said Buffy while trying to match what her grandmother had just told her with other bits of alchemical lore.

"Yes, he probably found a way by studying demon magic but even if mythology is only half right, Olympian immortality has little to do with what the Ori envisioned. In fact, by studying mythology, I came up with a theory on how they did it. I think that the key is the difference you noted, Sineya. Here, on Earth, there is an afterlife. If I am right, the fact Tartarus is one of the first things created in mythology is a reflection of its importance for the Olympians. I think that Saturn and the other Titans created it as a fortress where their souls could regenerate a body when the Old Ones managed to slay them."

"And later, after they created the humans, they extended the system to all sentient life…" said Sineya.

"Yes. I have unfortunately little proof to back that theory… to talk about something funnier, Ad Astra Channel is launching a new show. I propose to watch the pilot tonight."

"You got hooked on Mass Effect?" asked Buffy with a grin.

"It is… less scientifically inaccurate than I first thought," replied the Alteran, having decided to keep her suspicions about that show's backers to herself for now. "That new one… will probably be wackier, though."

"You can bet. It's steampunk after all… Sineya, ever read Jules Verne?"

"One of my past hosts did. Kinda like Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea?"

"From the trailers I saw, _Girl Genius_ is going to be a lot crazier… but it will fit our family all right. I mean… Adventure! Romance! Mad Science! That's sooo us!"

"I rather think that someone's neurotransmitters levels need to be checked," replied Ariana with a deliberately manic grin.

Buffy pouted as she was levitated back onto the testing chair by her grandmother.

* * *

 **Columbia University, Thursday 16 May 1996**

The Count of Saint-Germain thanked the fact the lecture hall he was currently in was an amphitheater with an exit in the back. He was probably making a very strange face right now, given what the young Egyptologist was talking about… to the indignation of his peers.

 _But the idiots are not the one you think…_

Of course, being Nabu of the Goa'uld, he knew that what the Dr. Daniel Jackson was talking about was correct and he felt like dope-slapping the esteemed academics who would soon start to scoff at the young man. He knew that it was his people who built the pyramids. The clues were right here in Giza if you looked at them with an open mind but the Count had come to the conclusion that the academic establishment often seemed incapable of applying the scientific method when it started to disprove 'reputable models'.

 _Where is she? Ah, I finally see her. Nice obfuscation spell._

A woman in a dark red power suit flickered into existence as he reached the inside of her spell. He hadn't seen her in decades, since he organized the meeting shortly after Jupiter's demise, in fact. In this country and age, she, or rather the woman she took as a host so long ago, would have been pegged as a rather pale Native American. She was beautiful, but in no way soft. She had always been a warrior and took her hosts accordingly.

"I wondered why you asked me to come here, Coyolxauhqui," Saint-Germain said softly as he came to stand near her.

"Isn't that evident, Nabu?"

"Of course… this poor lad is not going to make many new friends tonight. I can see the general interest given our history with Giza but I sense there is something personal."

"True… to put things in perspective, after having some fun helping the Mexican Revolution, I decided to take a nap and went to a nice, secluded pyramid in Belize. I was woken up in 1971 when a cute archeologist decided to check on the Furling toys I stashed there, including one of the crystal skulls… you can guess the results. Of course, I was thirsty but thankfully a group of pillagers who had followed the cute archeologist saw to that. After that… well, a good slaughter always makes me horny and I may have traumatized him a little bit when he came back from his dimensional trip."

Saint-Germain sighed, remembering once again the circumstances that forced Coyolxauhqui to join the ranks of the Lamashtu Heresy. For her, it had not been a matter of philosophical choice but the fact she had become an abomination as far as the Goa'uld were concerned. Left for dead after her failed coup against the System Lord Huitzilopochtli, she had been found by a vampire in the canyon she had managed to crawl into, hiding in hope that she could heal herself and her host enough. The vampire turned her but the process had not been designed for a being with two souls. It made all of the flesh undead but only kicked out the human soul, leaving the Goa'uld in place… and very much in control.

 _But, even after all this time, I still cannot decide if it makes her a better or a worse monster than a common vampire…_

"I suppose this archeologist is related to yours," he finally said, nodding toward Jackson.

"Grandson… and no, I didn't turn Nick. Didn't turn anyone since Vlad, just like we agreed… Anyway, I just kept in touch and promised him I would keep an eye on him after they had words last year."

He nodded, relaxing a little bit. He didn't know exactly how – though he suspected that pacts with the Black Court were involved – but Coyolxauhqui was the progenitor of a new vampiric race. The humans she turned kept their souls like she did… in fact it settled in the 'blank' Goa'uld larva she implanted in them as part of the turning process. They also had most of the 'traditional' vampiric powers Stoker had described and didn't become deformed with age like ordinary vampires. Thankfully, they were only a handful as they reproduced far less easily than ordinary vampires… or showed remarkable restraint. Saint-Germain truly hoped it was both.

"You see the woman on the other side of the hall?" continued the undead Goa'uld.

"Yes… she doesn't seem to be here to mock."

"Her name is Catherine Langford."

"Same family as the Langford who found the Chappa'ai sixty years ago?" he asked back, using the Goa'uld name for the Stargate.

"Daughter. My informants in Washington say that she's involved with something the Air Force is cooking up. I don't know where or what but her presence here makes some hypotheses a lot more likely. She probably wants Daniel to work on the inscriptions they found with the Chappa'ai."

"Without the control console Ra took with him they are limited… but entering an address manually in the gate is always possible."

"Or maybe they found the one the Ancients left on this planet…"

"Possible but doubtful. The Olympians hid their outpost from us… and if someone has it, it won't be the Americans. I cannot say more as this is not my secret, old friend."

"Fair enough. The Giza inscriptions will lead them to Abydos. Ra cannot let this pass."

"He will not try to invade. He knows why he evacuated the first time."

"No but this time he may well decide that nuking Earth is worth the risk… and Ra's rule is not as absolute as it used to be according to my… contacts from downstairs. The only others who know why Ra really ordered them to pack up are Hathor, Setesh and us heretics… and we're all still on Earth."

"You're forgetting Yu."

"If there is one System Lord I don't worry seeing here, it's him. There is a reason why he settled on the other side of the galaxy… and my contact says that foxes are still exterminated on sight in all of his domains," she added with a fangy grin.

Saint-Germain could only smile as he remembered a certain nine-tailed vixen who had been Yu's pain in the backside for several decades. The dark fey had corrupted the System Lord's vassals and sparked a civil war that survived as an obscure legend in China and finally got written down as a novel during the Ming dynasty.

"The real problem is the other System Lords like Apophis," continued the undead Goa'uld. "They will just think that Ra was senile and see a bounty they can come plunder. Soldiers from Earth exploring the galaxy… they will have them captured and implanted to get all the info they need. You know as well as I do that Earth's defenses are not up to the task."

The Count nodded, noticing that she was now biting the tip of her thumb, a sure sign of stress for her. She was worried and it meant that she had probably reached the same conclusion as him: not only was Earth militarily not prepared but the various governments would make the mistake of thinking they could reason with the System Lords like they would with humans. Nabu and Coyolxauhqui both knew all too well how they used to think, before millennia of immersion in human culture changed them.

Negotiating with his former brethren was useless. What the Goa'uld would want was total submission, both political and religious. If they had the info – and Nabu was almost sure they would as any captured soldier would know that – then the battle plan was obvious… at least to any other Goa'uld. There would be first an attack to reduce into glassy waste places like Rome, Mecca or Jerusalem. To a System Lord's mind, destroying holy places was a logical step to assert himself as the greater god and break their enemy's morale. Once that was done, there would be a one-time offer for unconditional surrender. If it wasn't heeded with haste by the whole planet – an impossibility for Earth – the slaughter would begin until the population was reduced by half at the very least.

 _And in the unlikely – and disgusting – case the humans hail them with an immediate surrender offer, the reply of the System Lords will be to order them to nuke the centers of worship themselves, to prove their obedience, and it will be back to square one. No, my human friends, to the System Lords you are cattle and you don't negotiate with cattle. You put it back in its place or you put it down. Your… and my only option is to fight._

"Then… do we prevent them from using the chappa'ai to stall the process?" he finally asked.

"I thought about it and I can find no good plan for it. We steal the gate and they will be on our backs with an 'alien spies among us' scenario. Damaging it… you know how resilient it is. You have better info from upstairs than I do. What do you think they will do?"

"Difficult to say. The Olympians can probably protect the planet provided the Lanteans don't meddle again but better to act as if they can't. Further than that… I know that Minerva is plotting something, but she didn't give me any details. Coming out and helping them?"

"With the Americans in charge? Thanks but no thanks. The same kind of soulless – and I mean exactly that – bastards that were behind the DRI are still pulling too many strings in Washington. No, if I do something governmentally speaking, it will be to make sure the info I have about their program ends up in the KGB's hands. At least the Soviets listen to the Baba Yaga when she tells them something is monumentally stupid," she replied with a scowl. "You should do the same with your French friends."

Sadly, he could only acquiesce. He had little doubt that the Witch Queen's hand had guided the USSR's history since World War Two… and been notoriously more heavy-handed since Jupiter's death lifted many of the restrictions set upon the Black Court. Brezhnev had been removed and a Communist Party convention had decided on major ideological changes. At the center were economic reforms based on Lenin's NEP. The Party had officially admitted that creating the New Soviet Man would be a long task, that humanity's selfish instincts were not easily vanquished. It was therefore better to allow a little, controlled capitalism so that people could satisfy their instincts rather than face rampant corruption.

 _That and adopting laws for full gender equality, including having women in fighting units as a standard measure. I wonder how much… 'persuasion' the old crone used. Anyway, she is right. If the chappa'ai is used, I have to tell Ariana about it… but not yet. The Venturi have already enough on their plate right now._

"I will see what I can do in Europe, but I think we should observe, maybe place a few plants wherever their project is. Also, the others who stayed…"

"Isis and Osiris are in stasis in canopic jars," she cut in, having guessed his intent regarding the 'normal' Goa'uld who stayed on Earth. "Sekhmet…"

"Berenger retrieved her jar."

"Good. Hathor… that cow hid well. That leaves Setesh and I know where he is. I will pay him a final visit… and bring my kids along for the occasion," said the vampire with a feral grin.

Saint-Germain's knuckles whitened on the pommel of his cane. Over and over he had tried to find him to finish that menace but Setesh had always eluded him, maybe thanks to demonic help.

 _Maybe it's better like that… a monster to get rid of another monster._

"Please remember that most of his pawns are not Jaffa but nish'ta-addled innocents."

"Typical of you, reminding me about the pesky details to spoil my fun. Hmmm… I'll make a deal with you: If I do the job without any innocent victims, I reserve myself the right to turn someone in the near future… maybe a daughter this time."

"Agreed," he said knowing very well that he was sacrificing a person to save many.

 _Author note: for those who may wonder about Coyolxauhqui's abilities, the Wamphyri created by Brian Lumley for his Necroscope series will be a good source of inspiration._


End file.
